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He  paced  up  and  down  in  his  jerky,  quick-stepping  fashi 


See  page  4. 


THE   STARK   MUNRO 
LETTERS 


BEING    A    SERIES    OF    TIVELVE    LETTERS 

IVRITTEN  BY  J.  STARK  MUNRO,  M.  B., 

TO  HIS  FRIEND  AND  FORMER  FELLOIV-STUDENT, 

HERBERT  SIVANBOROUGH, 

OF  LOIVELL,  MASSACHUSETTS, 

DURING   THE    YEARS   1881-1884 


EDP.ED    AND    ARRANGED  .  BY. 

A.   CONAN   DOYLE 

AUTHOR    OF 

ROUND   THE    RED    LAMP,    THE    ADVENTURES    OF    SHERLOCK    HOLMES, 

THE    WHITE    COMPANY,    ETC. 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 


SECOND   EDITION 


NEW     YORK 

D.     APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1895 


By  D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


The  letters  of  my  friend  Mr.  Stark  Munro 
appear  to  me  to  form  so  connected  a  whole,  and 
to  give  so  plain  an  account  of  some  of  the  troubles 
which  a  young  man  may  be  called  upon  to  face 
right  away  at  the  outset  of  his  career,  that  I  have 
handed  them  over  to  the  gentleman  who  is  about 
to  edit  them.  There  are  two  of  them,  the  fifth  and 
the  ninth,  from  which  some  excisions  are  neces- 
sary ;  but  in  the  main  I  hope  that  they  may  be  re- 
produced as  they  stand.  I  am  sure  that  there  is 
no  privilege  which  my  friend  would  value  more 
highly  than  the  thought  that  some  other  young 
man,  harassed  by  the  needs  of  this  world  and 
doubts  of  the  next,  should  have  gotten  strength  by 
reading  how  a  brother  had  passed  down  the  valley 
of  shadow  before  him. 

Herbert  Swanborough. 

Lowell,  Mass. 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FACING 
PAGE 


He    paced    up    and    down    in    his    jerky,    quick-stepping 

fashion  .......    Frontispiece 

The  morning  patients  begin  to  drop  in     .         .         .         .     102 

I  felt  a  timid  touch  upon  my  sleeve .....     166 

Who  should    I   see   in    the   street   the  other  day  but  the 

McFarlanes. 190 

On   descending  I  found  a  curious-looking  figure  in  a  gray 

dressing-gown      .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .250 

He  introduced  me  to  two  other  men         ....     255 

On  the  sofa  was  stretched  our  unfortunate  host       .         .     309 

Her  daughter  bent  towards  her  and  kissed  her         .         •     351 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


I. 

Home,  joth  March,  1881. 

I  HAVE  missed  you  very  much  since  your  re- 
turn to  America,  my  dear  Bertie,  for  you  are  the 
one  man  upon  this  earth  to  whom  I  have  ever 
been  able  to  unreservedly  open  my  whole  mind.  I 
don't  know  why  it  is ;  for,  now  that  I  come  to 
think  of  it,  I  have  never  enjoyed  very  much  of 
your  confidence  in  return.  But  that  may  be  my 
fault.  Perhaps  you  don't  find  me  sympathetic, 
even  though  I  have  every  wish  to  be.  I  can  only 
say  that  I  find  you  intensely  so,  and  perhaps  I  pre- 
sume too  much  upon  the  fact.  But  no,  every  in- 
stinct in  my  nature  tells  me  that  I  don't  bore  you 
by  my  confidences. 

Can  you  remember  CuUingworth  at  the  Uni- 
versity? You  never  were  in  the  athletic  set,  and 
so  it  is  possible  that  you  don't.     Anyway,  I'll  take 


2  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS 

it  for  granted  that  you  don't,  and  explain  it  all 
from  the  beginning.  I'm  sure  that  you  would 
know  his  photograph,  however,  for  the  reason 
that  he  was  the  ugliest  and  queerest-looking  man 
of  our  year. 

Physically  he  was  a  fine  athlete — one  of  the 
fastest  and  most  determined  Rugby  forwards  that 
I  have  ever  known,  though  he  played  so  savage 
a  game  that  he  was  never  given  his  international 
cap.  He  was  well-grown,  five  foot  nine  perhaps, 
with  square  shoulders,  an  arching  chest,  and  a 
quick  jerky  way  of  walking.  He  had  a  round 
strong  head,  bristling  with  short  wiry  black  hair. 
His  face  was  wonderfully  ugly,  but  it  was  the 
ugliness  of  character,  which  is  as  attractive  as 
beauty.  His  jaw  and  eyebrows  were  scraggy  and 
rough-hewn,  his  nose  aggressive  and  red-shot,  his 
eyes  small  and  near  set,  light  blue  in  colour,  and 
capable  of  assuming  a  very  genial  and  also  an 
exceedingly  vindictive  expression.  A  slight  wiry 
moustache  covered  his  upper  lip,  and  his  teeth 
were  yellow,  strong,  and  overlapping.  Add  to 
this  that  he  seldom  wore  collar  or  necktie,  that 
his  throat  was  the  colour  and  texture  of  the  bark 
of  a  Scotch  fir,  and  that  he  had  a  voice  and  espe- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  3 

ciall}^  a  laugh  like  a  bull's  bellow.  Then  you 
have  some  idea  (if  you  can  piece  all  these  items 
in  your  mind)  of  the  outward  James  CuUing- 
worth. 

But  the  inner  man,  after  all,  was  what  w^as  most 
worth  noting.  I  don't  pretend  to  know  what  gen- 
ius is.  Carlyle's  definition  always  seemed  to  me 
to  be  a  very  crisp  and  clear  statement  of  what  it 
is  iiot.  Far  from  its  being  an  infinite  capacity  for 
taking  pains,  its  leading  characteristic,  as  far  as  I 
have  ever  been  able  to  observe  it,  has  been  that  it 
allows  the  possessor  of  it  to  attain  results  by  a  sort 
of  instinct  which  other  men  could  only  reach  by 
hard  work.  In  this  sense  CuUingworth  was  the 
greatest  genius  that  I  have  ever  known.  He  never 
seemed  to  work,  and  yet  he  took  the  anatomy  prize 
over  the  heads  of  all  the  ten-hour-a-day  men.  That 
might  not  count  for  much,  for  he  was  quite  capable 
of  idling  ostentatiously  all  day  and  then  reading 
desperately  all  night ;  but  start  a  subject  of  your 
own  for  him,  and  then  see  his  originality  and 
strength.  Talk  about  torpedoes,  and  he  would 
catch  up  a  pencil,  and  on  the  back  of  an  old  en- 
velope from  his  pocket  he  would  sketch  out  some 
novel  contrivance  for  piercing  a  ship's  netting  and 


4  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

getting  at  her  side,  which  might  no  doubt  involv^e 
some  technical  impossibilit}^,  but  which  would  at 
least  be  quite  plausible  and  new.  Then  as  he  drew, 
his  bristling  eyebrows  would  contract,  his  small 
eyes  would  gleam  with  excitement,  his  lips  would 
be  pressed  together,  and  he  would  end  by  banging 
on  the  paper  with  his  open  hand,  and  shouting  in 
his  exultation.  You  would  think  that  his  one 
mission  in  life  was  to  invent  torpedoes.  But 
next  instant,  if  you  were  to  express  surprise  as 
to  how  it  was  that  the  Egyptian  workmen  ele- 
vated the  stones  to  the  top  of  the  pyramids, 
out  would  come  the  pencil  and  envelope,  and 
he  would  propound  a  scheme  for  doing  that  with 
equal  energy  and  conviction.  This  ingenuity  was 
joined  to  an  extremely  sanguine  nature.  As  he 
paced  up  and  down  in  his  jerky  quick-stepping 
fashion  after  one  ot  these  flights  of  invention,  he 
would  take  out  patents  for  it,  receive  you  as  his 
partner  in  the  enterprise,  have  it  adopted  in  every 
civilised  country,  see  all  conceivable  applications 
of  it,  count  up  his  probable  royalties,  sketch  out 
the  novel  methods  in  which  he  would  invest  his 
gains,  and  finally  retire  with  the  most  gigantic 
fortune  that  has    ever    been    amassed.      And    vou 


THE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS. 


5 


would  be  swept  along  by  his  words,  and  would 
be  carried  every  foot  of  the  way  with  him,  so 
that  it  would  come  as  quite  a  shock  to  you  when 
you  suddenly  fell  back  to  earth  again,  and  found 
yourself  trudging  the  city  street  a  poor  student, 
with  Kirk's  Physiology  under  your  arm,  and  hardly 
the  price  of  your  luncheon  in  your  pocket. 

I  read  over  what  I  have  written,  but  I  can  see 
that  I  give  you  no  real  insight  into  the  demoniac 
cleverness  of  Cullingworth.  His  views  upon  medi- 
cine were  most  revolutionary,  but  I  daresay  that 
if  things  fulfil  their  promise  I  may  have  a  good 
deal  to  say  about  them  in  the  sequel.  With  his 
brilliant  and  unusual  gifts,  his  fine  athletic  record, 
his  strange  way  of  dressing  (his  hat  on  the  back 
of  his  head  and  his  throat  bare),  his  thundering 
voice,  and  his  ugly,  powerful  face,  he  had  quite 
the  most  marked  individuality  of  any  man  that  I 
have  ever  known. 

Now,  you  will  think  me  rather  prolix  about 
this  man ;  but,  as  it  looks  as  if  his  life  might  be- 
come entwined  with  mine,  it  is  a  subject  of  imme- 
diate interest  to  me,  and  I  am  writing  all  this 
for  the  purpose  of  reviving  my  own  half-faded 
impressions,  as  well    as   in    the    hope  of   amusing 


6  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

and  interesting-  you.  So  I  must  just  give  you  one 
or  two  other  points  which  may  make  his  charac- 
ter more  clear  to  you. 

He  had  a  dash  of  the  heroic  in  him.  On  one 
occasion  he  was  placed  in  such  a  position  that  he 
must  choose  between  compromising  a  lady,  or 
springing  out  of  a  third-floor  window.  Without  a 
moment's  hesitation  he  hurled  himself  out  of  the 
window.  As  luck  would  have  it,  he  fell  through 
a  large  laurel  bush  on  to  a  garden  plot,  which  was 
soft  with  rain,  and  so  escaped  with  a  shaking  and  a 
bruising.  If  I  have  to  say  anything  that  gives  a 
bad  impression  of  the  man,  put  that  upon  the 
other  side. 

He  was  fond  of  rough  horse-play  ;  but  it  was 
better  to  avoid  it  with  him,  for  you  could  never 
tell  what  it  might  lead  to.  His  temper  was  noth- 
ing less  than  infernal.  I  have  seen  him  in  the  dis- 
secting-rooms begin  to  skylark  with  a  fellow,  and 
then  in  an  instant  the  fun  would  go  out  of  his  face, 
his  little  eyes  would  gleam  with  fury,  and  the  two 
would  be  rolling,  worrying  each  other  like  dogs, 
below  the  table.  He  would  be  dragged  off,  pant- 
ing and  speechless  with  fury,  with  his  wiry  hair 
bristling  straight  up  like  a  fighting  terrier's. 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


7 


This  pugnacious  side  of  his  character  would 
be  worthily  used  sometimes.  I  remember  that 
an  address  which  was  being  given  to  us  by  an 
eminent  London  specialist  was  much  interrupted 
by  a  man  in  the  front  row,  who  amused  himself 
by  interjecting  remarks.  The  lecturer  appealed 
to  his  audience  at  last.  "  These  interruptions 
are  insufferable,  gentlemen,"  said  he ;  ''  will  no 
one  free  me  from  this  annoyance?"  "Hold 
your  tongue — you,  sir,  on  the  front  bench," 
cried  Cullingworth,  in  his  bull's  bellow.  "  Per- 
haps you'll  make  me,"  said  the  fellow,  turning  a 
contemptuous  face  over  his  shoulder.  Culling- 
worth closed  his  note-book,  and  began  to  walk 
down  on  the  tops  of  the  desks  to  the  delight  of 
the  three  hundred  spectators.  It  was  fine  to  see 
the  deliberate  way  in  which  he  picked  his  way 
among  the  ink  bottles.  As  he  sprang  down 
from  the  last  bench  on  to  the  floor,  his  oppo- 
nent struck  him  a  smashing  blow  full  in  the  face. 
Cullingworth  got  his  bulldog  grip  on  him,  how- 
ever, and  rushed  him  backwards  out  of  the 
class-room.  What  he  did  with  him  I  don't 
know,  but  there  was  a  noise  like  the  delivery  of 
a    ton    of  coals ;    and    the    champion    of   law    and 


8  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

order  returned,  with  the  sedate  air  of  a  man 
who  had  done  his  work.  One  of  his  eyes 
looked  Hke  an  over-ripe  damson,  but  we  gave 
him  three  cheers  as  he  made  his  way  back  to 
his  seat.  Then  we  went  on  with  the  dangers  of 
Placenta  Prasvia. 

He  was  not  a  man  who  drank  hard,  but  a 
little  drink  would  have  a  very  great  effect  upon 
him.  Then  it  was  that  the  ideas  would  surge 
from  his  brain,  each  more  fantastic  and  ingen- 
ious than  the  last.  And  if  ever  he  did  get  be- 
yond the  borderland  he  would  do  the  most 
amazing  things.  Sometimes  it  was  the  fighting 
instinct  that  would  possess  him,  sometimes  the 
preaching,  and  sometimes  the  comic,  or  they 
might  come  in  succession,  replacing  each  other 
so  rapidly  as  to  bewilder  his  companions.  In- 
toxication brought  all  kinds  of  queer  little 
peculiarities  with  it.  One  of  them  was  that  he 
could  walk  or  run  perfectly  straight,  but  that 
there  always  came  a  time  when  he  uncon- 
sciously returned  upon  his  tracks  and  retraced 
his  steps  again.  This  had  a  strange  effect  some- 
times, as  in  the  instance  which  I  am  about  to 
tell  you. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  g 

Very  sober  to  outward  seeming-,  but  in  a 
frenzy  within,  he  went  down  to  the  station  one 
night,  and,  stooping  to  the  pigeon-hole,  he  asked 
the  ticket-clerk,  in  the  suavest  voice,  whether 
he  could  tell  him  how  far  it  was  to  London. 
The  official  put  forward  his  face  to  reply  when 
Cullingworth  drove  his  fist  through  the  little 
hole  with  the  force  of  a  piston.  The  clerk  flew 
backwards  off  his  stool,  and  his  yell  of  pain  and 
indignation  brought  some  police  and  railway 
men  to  his  assistance.  They  pursued  Culling- 
worth ;  but  he,  as  active  and  as  fit  as  a  grey- 
hound, outraced  them  all,  and  vanished  into  the 
darkness,  down  the  long,  straight  street.  The 
pursuers  had  stopped,  and  were  gathered  in  a 
knot  talking  the  matter  over,  when,  looking  up, 
they  saw,  to  their  amazement,  the  man  whom 
they  were  after,  running  at  the  top  of  his  speed 
in  their  direction.  His  little  peculiarity  had  as- 
serted itself,  you  see,  and  he  had  unconsciously 
turned  in  his  flight.  They  tripped  him  up, 
flung  themselves  upon  him,  and  after  a  long  and 
desperate  struggle  dragged  him  to  the  police 
station.  He  was  charged  before  the  magistrate 
next  morning,  but   made    such    a   brilliant  speech 


lO  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

from  the  dock  in  his  own  defence  that  he  car- 
ried the  Court  with  him,  and  escaped  with  a 
nominal  fine.  At  his  invitation,  the  witnesses 
and  the  police  trooped  after  him  to  the  nearest 
hotel,  and  the  affair  ended  in  universal  whisky- 
and-sodas. 

Well,  now,  if,  after  all  these  illustrations,  I 
have  failed  to  give  you  some  notion  of  the  man, 
able,  magnetic,  unscrupulous,  interesting,  many- 
sided,  I  must  despair  of  ever  doing  so.  I'll  sup- 
pose, however,  that  I  have  not  failed  ;  and  I 
will  proceed  to  tell  you,  my  most  patient  of 
confidants,  something  of  my  personal  relations 
with  CuUingworth. 

When  I  first  made  a  casual  acquaintance 
with  him  he  was  a  bachelor.  At  the  end  of  a 
long  vacation,  however,  he  met  me  in  the  street, 
and  told  me,  in  his  loud-voiced  volcanic  shoul- 
der-slapping way,  that  he  had  just  been  married. 
At  his  invitation,  I  went  up  with  him  then  and 
there  to  see  his  wife  ;  and  as  we  walked  he  told 
me  the  history  of  his  wedding,  which  was  as 
extraordinary  as  everything  else  he  did.  I 
won't  tell  it  to  you  here,  my  dear  Bertie,  for  I 
feel    that    I    have    dived    down    too    many    side 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  n 

streets  already  ;  but  it  was  a  most  bustling  busi- 
ness, in  which  the  locking  of  a  governess  into 
her  room  and  the  dyeing  of  Cullingworth's  hair 
played  prominent  parts.  Apropos  of  the  latter 
he  was  never  quite  able  to  get  rid  of  its  traces  ; 
and  from  this  time  forward  there  was  added  to 
his  other  peculiarities  the  fact  that  when  the 
sunlight  struck  upon  his  hair  at  certain  angles, 
it  turned   it  all  iridescent  and  shimmering. 

Well,  I  went  up  to  his  lodgings  with  him, 
and  was  introduced  to  Mrs.  Cullingworth.  She 
was  a  timid,  little,  sweet-faced,  grey-eyed  woman, 
quiet-voiced  and  gentle-mannered.  You  had  only 
to  see  the  way  in  which  she  looked  at  him  to 
understand  that  she  was  absolutely  under  his  con- 
trol, and  that  do  what  he  might,  or  say  what  he 
might,  it  would  always  be  the  best  thing  to  her. 
She  could  be  obstinate,  too,  in  a  gentle,  dove- 
like sort  of  way  ;  but  her  obstinacy  lay  always 
in  the  direction  of  backing  up  his  sayings  and 
doings.  This,  however,  I  was  only  to  find  out 
afterwards  ;  and  at  that,  my  first  visit,  she  im- 
pressed me  as  being  one  of  the  sweetest  little 
women  that  I  had  ever  known. 

They  were    living  in    the    most  singular  style, 


12  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

in  a  suite  of  four  small  rooms,  over  a  grocer's 
shop.  There  was  a  kitchen,  a  bedroom,  a  sit- 
ting-room, and  a  fourth  room,  which  CuUing- 
worth  insisted  upon  regarding  as  a  most  un- 
healthy apartment  and  a  focus  of  disease,  though 
1  am  convinced  that  it  was  nothing  more  than 
the  smell  of  cheeses  from  below  which  had 
given  him  the  idea.  At  any  rate,  with  his  usual 
energy  he  had  not  only  locked  the  room  up, 
but  had  gummed  varnished  paper  over  all  the 
cracks  of  the  door,  to  prevent  the  imaginary 
contagion  from  spreading.  The  furniture  was 
the  sparest  possible.  There  were,  I  remember, 
only  two  chairs  in  the  sitting-room  ;  so  that 
when  a  guest  came  (and  I  think  I  was  the  only 
one)  CuUingworth  used  to  squat  upon  a  pile  of 
yearly  volumes  of  the  British  Medical  Journal  \vi 
the  corner.  I  can  see  him  now  levering  himself 
up  from  his  lowly  seat,  and  striding  about  the 
room  roaring  and  striking  with  his  hands,  while 
his  little  wife  sat  mum  in  the  corner,  listening 
to  him  with  love  and  admiration  in  her  eyes. 
What  did  we  care,  any  one  of  the  three  of  us, 
where  we  sat  or  how  we  lived,  when  youth 
throbbed    hot    in    our   veins,  and    our    souls  were 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


13 


all  aflame  with  the  possibilities  of  life  ?  I  still 
look  upon  those  Bohemian  evenings,  in  the  bare 
room  amid  the  smell  of  the  cheese,  as  being 
among  the  happiest  that  I  have  known. 

I  was  a  frequent  visitor  to  the  Cullingworths, 
for  the  pleasure  that  I  got  was  made  the 
sweeter  by  the  pleasure  which  I  hoped  that  I 
gave.  They  knew  no  one,  and  desired  to  know 
no  one  ;  so  that  socially  I  seemed  to  be  the 
only  link  that  bound  them  to  the  world.  I  even 
ventured  to  interfere  in  the  details  of  their  little 
menage.  CuUingworth  had  a  fad  at  the  time, 
that  all  the  diseases  of  civilisation  were  due  to 
the  abandonment  of  the  open-air  life  of  our  an- 
cestors, and  as  a  corollary  he  kept  his  win- 
dows open  day  and  night.  As  his  wife  was  ob- 
viously fragile,  and  yet  would  have  died  before 
she  would  have  uttered  a  word  of  complaint,  I 
took  it  upon  myself  to  point  out  to  him  that 
the  cough  from  which  she  suffered  was  hardly 
to  be  cured  so  long  as  she  spent  her  life  in  a 
draught.  He  scowled  savagely  at  me  for  my 
interference ;  and  I  thousfht  we  were  on  the 
verge  of  a  quarrel,  but  it  blew  over,  and  he  be- 
came more  considerate  in  the  matter  of  ventilation. 


I^  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

Our  evening  occupations  just  about  that  time 
were  of  a  most  extraordinary  character.  You 
are  aware  that  there  is  a  substance,  called 
waxy  matter,  which  is  deposited  in  the  tissues 
of  the  body  during  the  course  of  certain  dis- 
eases. What  this  may  be  and  how  it  is  formed 
has  been  a  cause  for  much  bickering  among 
pathologists.  CuUingworth  had  strong  views 
upon  the  subject,  holding  that  the  waxy  matter 
was  really  the  same  thing  as  the  glycogen 
which  is  normally  secreted  by  the  liver.  But  it 
is  one  thing  to  have  an  idea,  and  another  to  be 
able  to  prove  it.  Above  all,  we  wanted  some 
waxy  matter  with  which  to  experiment.  But 
fortune  favoured  us  in  the  most  magical  way. 
The  Professor  of  Pathology  had  come  into  pos- 
session of  a  magnificent  specimen  of  the  con- 
dition. With  pride  he  exhibited  the  organ  to 
us  in  the  class-room  before  ordering  his  assistant 
to  remove  it  to  the  ice-chest,  preparatory  to  its 
being  used  for  microscopical  work  in  the  prac- 
tical class.  CuUingworth  saw  his  chance,  and 
acted  on  the  instant.  Slipping  out  of  the  class- 
room, he  threw  open  the  ice-chest,  rolled  his 
ulster  round  the  dreadful  glistening  mass,  closed 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  jc 

the  chest  again,  and  walked  quietly  away.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  to  this  day  the  disappear- 
ance of  that  waxy  liver  is  one  of  the  most  in- 
explicable mysteries  in  the  career  of  our  Pro- 
fessor. 

That  evening,  and  for  many  evenings  to 
come,  we  worked  upon  our  liver.  For  our 
experiments  it  was  necessary  to  subject  it  all  to 
great  heat  in  an  endeavour  to  separate  the 
nitrogenous  cellular  substance  from  the  non- 
nitrogenous  waxy  matter.  With  our  limited 
appliances  the  only  way  we  could  think  of  was 
to  cut  it  into  fine  pieces  and  cook  it  in  a  fry- 
ing pan.  So  night  after  night  the  curious  spec- 
tacle might  have  been  seen  of  a  beautiful  young 
woman  and  two  very  earnest  young  men  busily 
engaged  in  making  these  grim  fricassees.  Noth- 
ing came  of  all  our  work ;  for  though  Culling- 
worth  considered  that  he  had  absolutely  estab- 
lished his  case,  and  wrote  long  screeds  .  to  the 
medical  papers  upon  the  subject,  he  was  never 
apt  at  stating  his  views  with  his  pen,  and  he 
left,  I  am  sure,  a  very  confused  idea  on  the 
minds  of  his  readers  as  to  what  it  was  that  he 
was    driving    at.       Again,    as    he    was     a    mere 


l6  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

student  without  any  letters  after  his  name,  he 
got  scant  attention,  and  I  never  heard  that  he 
gained  over  a  single  supporter. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  we  both  passed  our 
examinations  and  became  duly  qualified  medical 
men.  The  CuUingworths  vanished  away,  and  I 
never  heard  any  more  of  them,  for  he  was  a 
man  who  prided  himself  upon  never  writing  a 
letter.  His  father  had  formerly  a  very  large 
and  lucrative  practice  in  the  West  of  Scotland, 
but  he  died  some  years  ago.  I  had  a  vague 
idea,  founded  upon  some  chance  remark  of  his, 
that  Cullingworth  had  gone  to  see  whether  the 
family  name  might  still  stand  him  in  good  stead 
there.  As  for  me  I  began,  as  you  will  remem- 
ber that  I  explained  in  my  last,  by  acting  as 
assistant  in  my  father's  practice.  You  know, 
however,  that  at  its  best  it  is  not  worth  more 
than  ^700  a  year,  with  no  room  for  expansion. 
This  is  not  large  enough  to  keep  two  of  us  at 
work.  Then,  again,  there  are  times  when  I  can 
see  that  my  religious  opinions  annoy  the  dear 
old  man.  On  the  whole,  and  for  every  reason, 
I  think  that  it  would  be  better  if  I  were  out  of 
this.     I    applied    for   several   steamship  lines,  and 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  ly 

for  at  least  a  dozen  house  surgeonships ;  but 
there  is  as  much  competition  for  a  miserable 
post  with  a  hundred  a  year  as  if  it  were  the 
Viceroyship  of  India.  As  a  rule,  I  simply  get 
my  testimonials  returned  without  any  comment, 
which  is  the  sort  of  thing  that  teaches  a  man 
humility.  Of  course,  it  is  very  pleasant  to  live 
with  the  mater,  and  my  little  brother  Paul  is  a 
regular  trump.  I  am  teaching  him  boxing  ;  and 
you  should  see  him  put  his  tiny  fists  up,  and 
counter  with  his  right.  He  got  me  under  the 
jaw  this  evening,  and  1  had  to  ask  for  poached 
eggs  for  supper. 

And  all  this  brings  me  up  to  the  present  time 
and  the  latest  news.  It  is  that  I  had  a  tele- 
gram from  Cullingworth  this  morning — after  nine 
months'  silence.  It  was  dated  from  Avonmouth, 
the  town  where  I  had  suspected  that  he  had 
settled,  and  it  said  simply,  ''  Come  at  once.  I 
have  urgent  need  of  you.  Cullingworth."  Of 
course,  I  shall  go  by  the  first  train  to-morrow. 
It  may  mean  anything  or  nothing.  In  my  heart 
of  hearts  I  hope  and  believe  that  old  Culling- 
worth sees  an  opening  for  me  either  as  his  partner 
or  in  some  other  way.     I  always  believed  that  he 


l8  THE   STARK   MUNRO   LETTERS. 

would  turn  up  trumps,  and  make  my  fortune  as 
well  as  his  own.  He  knows  that  if  I  am  not  very 
quick  or  brilliant  I  am  fairly  steady  and  reliable. 
So  that's  what  I've  been  working  up  to  all  along, 
Bertie,  that  to-morrow  I  go  to  join  CuUingworth, 
and  that  it  looks  as  if  there  was  to  be  an  opening 
for  me  at  last.  I  gave  you  a  sketch  of  him  and 
his  ways,  so  that  you  may  take  an  interest  in  the 
development  of  my  fortune,  which  you  could  not 
do  if  you  did  not  know  something  of  the  man 
who  is  holding  out  his  hand  to  me. 

Yesterday  was  my  birthday,  and  I  was  two 
and  twenty  3'ears  of  age.  For  two  and  twenty 
years  have  I  swung  around  the  sun.  And  in  all 
seriousness,  without  a  touch  of  levity,  and  from 
the  bottom  of  my  soul,  I  assure  you  that  I  have 
at  the  present  moment  the  very  vaguest  idea  as 
to  whence  I  have  come  from,  whither  I  am  going, 
or  what  I  am  here  for.  It  is  not  for  want  of  in- 
quiry, or  from  indifference.  I  have  mastered  the 
principles  of  several  religions.  They  have  all 
shocked  me  by  the  violence  w^hich  I  should  have 
to  do  to  my  reason  to  accept  the  dogmas  of  any 
one  of  them.  Their  ethics  are  usually  excellent. 
So  are  the  ethics  of  the  common  law  of  Eno^land. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


19 


But  the  scheme  of  creation  upon  which  those 
ethics  are  built !  Well,  it  really  is  to  me  the  most 
astonishing  thing  that  I  have  seen  in  my  short 
earthly  pilgrimage,  that  so  many  able  men,  deep 
philosophers,  astute  lawyers,  and  clear-headed 
men  of  the  world  should  accept  such  an  explana- 
tion of  the  facts  of  life.  In  the  face  of  their  appar- 
ent concurrence  my  own  poor  little  opinion  would 
not  dare  to  do  more  than  lurk  at  the  back  of  my 
soul,  were  it  not  that  I  take  courage  when  I  re- 
flect that  the  equally  eminent  law3^ers  and  philoso- 
phers of  Rome  and  Greece  were  all  agreed  that 
Jupiter  had  numerous  wives  and  was  fond  of  a 
glass  of  good  wine. 

Mind,  my  dear  Bertie,  I  do  not  wish  to  run 
down  your  view  or  that  of  any  other  man.  We 
who  claim  toleration  should  be  the  first  to  extend 
it  to  others.  I  am  only  indicating  my  own  posi- 
tion, as  1  have  often  done  before.  And  I  know 
your  reply  so  well.  Can't  I  hear  your  grave  voice 
saying  ''  Have  faith ! "  Your  conscience  allows 
you  to.  Well,  mine  won't  allow  me.  I  see  so 
clearly  that  faith  is  not  a  virtue,  but  a  vice.  It  is  a 
goat  which  has  been  herded  with  the  sheep.  If  a 
man  deliberately  shut    his  physical   eyes  and  re- 


20  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

fused  to  use  them,  you  would  be  as  quick  as  any 
one  in  seeing  that  it  was  immoral  and  a  treason  to 
Nature.  And  yet  you  would  counsel  a  man  to 
shut  that  far  more  precious  gift,  the  reason,  and 
to  refuse  to  use  it  in  the  most  intimate  question 
of  life. 

"  The  reason  cannot  help  in  such  a  matter,"  you 
reply.  I  answer  that  to  say  so  is  to  give  up  a 
battle  before  it  is  fought.  My  reason  shall  help 
me,  and  when  it  can  help  no  longer  1  shall  do  with- 
out help. 

It's  late,  Bertie,  and  the  fire's  out,  and  I'm 
shivering;  and  you,  I'm  very  sure,  are  heartily 
weary  of  my  gossip  and  my  heresies,  so  adieu  until 
my  next. 


II. 

Home,  loth  April,  i8Si. 

Well,  my  dear  Bertie,  here  I  am  again  in  your 
postbox.  It's  not  a  fortnight  since  I  wrote  you 
that  great  long  letter,  and  yet  you  see  I  have 
news  enough  to  make  another  formidable  budget. 
They  say  that  the  art  of  letter-writing  has  been 
lost ;  but  if  quantity  may  atone  for  quality,  you 
must  confess  that  (for  your  sins)  you  have  a  friend 
who  has  retained   it. 

When  I  wrote  to  you  last  I  was  on  the  eve  of 
going  down  to  join  the  Cullingworths  at  Avon- 
mouth,  with  every  hope  that  he  had  found  some 
opening  for  me.  I  must  tell  you  at  some  length 
the  particulars  of  that  expedition. 

I  travelled  down  part  of  the  way  with  young 
Leslie  Duncan,  whom  I  think  you  know.  He  was 
gracious  enough  to  consider  that  a  third-class  car- 
riage and  my  company  were  to  be  preferred  to  a 
first  class  with  solitude.     You  know  that  he  came 


22  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

into  his  uncle's  money  a  little  time  ago,  and  after  a 
first  delirious  outbreak,  he  has  now  relapsed  into 
that  dead  heavy  state  of  despair  which  is  caused 
by  having  everything  which  one  can  wish  for. 
How  absurd  are  the  ambitions  of  life  when  I  think 
that  I,  who  am  fairly  happy  and  as  keen  as  a  razor 
edge,  should  be  struggling  for  that  which  I  can 
see  has  brought  neither  profit  nor  happiness  to 
him  !  And  yet,  if  I  can  read  my  own  nature,  it  is 
not  the  accumulation  of  money  which  is  my  real 
aim,  but  only  that  I  may  acquire  so  much  as  will 
relieve  my  mind  of  sordid  cares  and  enable  me  to 
develop  any  gifts  which  I  may  have,  undisturbed. 
My  tastes  are  so  simple  that  I  cannot  imagine  any 
advantage  which  wealth  can  give — save  indeed  the 
exquisite  pleasure  of  helping  a  good  man  or  a 
good  cause.  Why  should  people  ever  take  credit 
for  charity  when  they  must  know  that  they  cannot 
gain  as  much  pleasure  out  of  their  guineas  in  any 
other  fashion  ?  I  gave  my  watch  to  a  broken 
schoolmaster  the  other  day  (having  no  change  in 
my  pocket),  and  the  mater  could  not  quite  deter- 
mine whether  it  was  a  trait  of  madness  or  of  nobil- 
ity. I  could  have  told  her  with  absolute  confi- 
dence that  it  was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


23 


but  a  sort  of  epicurean  selfishness  with  perhaps  a 
little  dash  of  swagger  away  down  at  the  bottom  of 
it.  What  had  I  ever  had  from  my  chronometer 
like  the  quiet  thrill  of  satisfaction  when  the  fellow 
brought  me  the  pawn  ticket  and  told  me  that  the 
thirty  shillings  had  been  useful  ? 

Leslie  Duncan  got  out  at  Carstairs,  and  I  was 
left  alone  with  a  hale,  white-haired,  old  Roman 
Catholic  priest,  who  had  sat  quietly  reading  his 
office  in  the  corner.  We  fell  into  the  most  inti- 
mate talk,  which  lasted  all  the  way  to  Avonmouth 
— indeed,  so  interested  was  I  that  I  very  nearly 
passed  through  the  place  without  knowing  it. 
Father  Logan  (for  that  was  his  name)  seemed 
to  me  to  be  a  beautiful  type  of  what  a  priest 
should  be — self-sacrificing  and  pure-minded,  with  a 
kind  of  simple  cunning  about  him,  and  a  deal  of 
innocent  fun.  He  had  the  defects  as  well  as  the 
virtues  of  his  class,  for  he  was  absolutely  reaction- 
ary in  his  views.  We  discussed  religion  with  fer- 
vour, and  his  theology  was  somewhere  about  the 
Early  Pliocene.  He  might  have  chattered  the 
matter  over  with  a  priest  of  Charlemagne's  Court, 
and  they  would  have  shaken  hands  after  every  sen- 
tence.    He  would  acknowledge  this  and  claim  it  as 


24 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


a  merit.  It  was  consistency  in  his  eyes.  If  our 
astronomers  and  inventors  and  law-givers  had  been 
equally  consistent  where  would  modern  civilisa- 
tion be?  Is  religion  the  only  domain  of  thought 
which  is  non-progressive,  and  to  be  referred  for 
ever  to  a  standard  set  two  thousand  years  ago? 
Can  they  not  see  that  as  the  human  brain  evolves 
it  must  take  a  wider  outlook?  A  half-formed  brain 
makes  a  half-formed  God,  and  who  shall  say  that 
our  brains  are  even  half-formed  yet?  The  truly 
inspired  priest  is  the  man  or  woman  with  the  big 
brain.  It  is  not  the  shaven  patch  on  the  outside, 
but  it  is  the  sixty  ounces  within  which  is  the  real 
mark  of  election. 

You  know  that  you  are  turning  up  your 
nose  at  me,  Bertie.  I  can  see  you  do  it.  But 
I'll  come  off  the  thin  ice,  and  you  shall  have 
nothinof  but  facts  now.  I'm  afraid  that  I  should 
never  do  for  a  story-teller,  for  the  first  stray 
character  that  comes  along  puts  his  arm  in  mine 
and  walks  me  off,  with  my  poor  story  straggling 
away  to  nothing  behind  me. 

Well,  then,  it  was  night  when  we  reached 
Avonmouth,  and  as  I  popped  my  head  out  of 
the    carriage    window,    the    first    thing    that    my 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


25 


eyes  rested  upon  was  old  Cullingworth,  standing 
in  the  circle  of  light  under  a  gas-lamp.  His 
frock  coat  was  flying  open,  his  waistcoat  unbut- 
toned at  the  top,  and  his  hat  (a  top  hat  this 
time)  jammed  on  the  back  of  his  head,  with  his 
bristling  hair  spurting  out  in  front  of  it.  In 
every  way,  save  that  he  wore  a  collar,  he  was 
the  same  Cullingworth  as  ever.  He  gave  a  roar 
of  recognition  when  he  saw  me,  bustled  me  out 
of  my  carriage,  seized  my  carpet  bag,  or  grip- 
sack as  you  used  to  call  it,  and  a  minute 
later  we  were  striding  along  together  through 
the  streets. 

1  was,  as  you  may  imagine,  all  in  a  tingle 
to  know  what  it  was  that  he  wanted  with  me. 
However,  as  he  made  no  allusion  to  it,  I  did 
not  care  to  ask,  and,  during  our  longish  walk, 
we  talked  about  indifferent  matters.  It  was  foot- 
ball first,  1  remember,  whether  Richmond  had  a 
chance  against  Blackheath,  and  the  way  in 
which  the  new  passing  game  was  shredding  the 
old  scrimmages.  Then  he  got  on  to  inventions,  , 
and  became  so  excited  that  he  had  to  give  me 
back  my  bag  in  order  that  he  might  be  able 
to    slap    all    his   points    home    with    his   fist   upon 


26  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

his  palm.  I  can  see  him  now  stopping-,  with  his 
face  leaning  forward  and  his  yellow  tusks  gleam- 
ing in  the   lamplight. 

"  My  dear  Munro "  (this  was  the  style  of 
the  thing),  "  why  was  armour  abandoned,  eh  ? 
What !  I'll  tell  you  why.  It  was  because  the 
weight  of  metal  that  would  protect  a  man  who 
was  standing  up  was  more  than  he  could  carry. 
But  battles  are  not  fought  now-a-days  by  men 
who  are  standing  up.  Your  infantry  are  all 
lying  on  their  stomachs,  and  it  would  take  very 
little  to  protect  them.  And  steel  has  improved, 
Munro!  Chilled  steel!  Bessemer!  Bessemer! 
Very  good.  How  much  to  cover  a  man?  Four- 
teen inches  by  twelve,  meeting  at  an  angle  so 
that  the  bullet  will  glance.  A  notch  at  one  side 
for  the  rifle.  There  you  have  it,  laddie— the 
Cullingworth  patent  portable  bullet-proof  shield  ! 
Weight?  Oh,  the  weight  would  be  sixteen 
pounds.  I  worked  it  out.  Each  company  car- 
ries its  shields  in  go-carts,  and  they  are  served 
out  on  going  into  action.  Give  me  twenty 
thousand  good  shots,  and  I'll  go  in  at  Calais 
and  come  out  at  Pekin.  Think  of  it,  my  boy  ! 
the    moral   effect.      One    side    gets    home    every 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


27 


time  and  the  other  plasters  its  bullets  up 
against  steel  plates.  No  troops  would  stand  it. 
The  nation  that  gets  it  first  will  pitchfork  the 
rest  of  Europe  over  the  edge.  They're  bound 
to  have  it — all  of  them.  Let's  reckon  it  out. 
There's  about  eight  million  of  them  on  a  war 
footing.  Let  us  suppose  that  only  half  of  them 
have  it.  I  say  only  half,  because  I  don't  want 
to  be  too  sanguine.  That's  four  million,  and  I 
should  take  a  royalty  of  four  shillings  on  whole- 
sale orders.  What's  that,  Munro  ?  About  three- 
quarters  of  a  million  sterling,  eh?  How's  that, 
laddie,   eh?     What?" 

Really,  that  is  not  unlike  his  style  of  talk, 
now  that  I  come  to  read  it  over,  only  you  miss 
the  queer  stops,  the  sudden  confidential  whis- 
pers, the  roar  with  which  he  triumphantly 
answered  his  own  questions,  the  shrugs  and 
slaps,  and  gesticulations.  But  not  a  word  all 
the  time  as  to  what  it  was  that  made  him  send 
me  that  urgent  wire  which  brought  me  to 
Avonmouth. 

1  had,  of  course,  been  puzzling  in  my  mind 
as  to  whether  he  had  succeeded  or  not,  though 
from    his    cheerful    appearance   and    buoyant  talk. 


28  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

it  was  tolerably  clear  to  me  that  all  was  well 
with  him.  I  was,  however,  surprised  when,  as 
we  walked  along  a  quiet,  curving  avenue,  with 
great  houses  standing  in  their  own  grounds 
upon  either  side,  he  stopped  and  turned  in 
through  the  iron  gate  which  led  up  to  one  of 
the  finest  of  them.  The  moon  had  broken  out 
and  shone  upon  the  high-peaked  roof,  and  upon 
the  gables  at  each  corner.  When  he  knocked  it 
was  opened  by  a  footman  with  red  plush  knee- 
breeches.  I  began  to  perceive  that  my  friend's 
success  must  have  been  something  colossal. 

When  we  came  down  to  the  dining-room  for 
supper,  Mrs.  CuUingworth  was  waiting  there  to 
greet  me.  I  was  sorry  to  see  that  she  was  pale 
and  weary-looking.  However,  we  had  a  merry 
meal  in  the  old  style,  and  her  husband's  anima- 
tion reflected  itself  upon  her  face,  until  at  last 
we  might  have  been  back  in  the  little  room, 
where  the  Medical  Journals  served  as  a  chair, 
instead  of  in  the  great  oak-furnished,  picture- 
hung  chamber  to  which  we  had  been  promoted. 
All  the  time,  however,  not  one  word  as  to  the 
object  of    my  journey. 

When  the    supper    was  finished,   CuUingworth 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


29 


led  the  way  into  a  small  sitting-room,  where  we 
both  lit  our  pipes,  and  Mrs.  Cullingworth  her 
cigarette.  He  sat  for  some  little  time  in  silence, 
and  then  bounding  up  rushed  to  the  door  and 
flung  it  open.  It  is  always  one  of  his  strange 
peculiarities  to  think  that  people  are  eavesdrop- 
ping or  conspiring  against  him  ;  for,  in  spite  of 
his  superficial  brusqueness  and  frankness,  a 
strange  vein  of  suspicion  runs  through  his  singu- 
lar and  complex  nature.  Having  satisfied  him- 
self now  that  there  were  no  spies  or  listeners  he 
threw  himself  down  into  his  armchair. 

"  Munro,"  said  he,  prodding  at  me  with  his 
pipe,  "  what  1  wanted  to  tell  you  is,  that  I  am 
utterly,  hopelessly,  and  irretrievably  ruined." 

My  chair  was  tilted  on  its  back  legs  as  he 
spoke,  and  I  assure  you  that  I  was  within  an  ace  of 
going  over.  Down  like  a  pack  of  cards  came  all 
my  dreams  as  to  the  grand  results  which  were  to 
spring  from  my  journey  to  Avonmouth.  Yes, 
Bertie,  T  am  bound  to  confess  it :  my  first  thought 
was  of  my  own  disappointment,  and  my  second 
of  the  misfortune  of  my  friends.  He  had  the 
most  diabolical  intuitions,  or  I  a  very  tell-tale  face, 
for  he  added  at  once — 


30 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


"  Sorry  to  disappoint  you,  my  boy.  That's  not 
what  you  expected  to  hear,  I  can  see." 

''Well,"  I  stammered,  "it  is  rather  a  sur- 
prise, old  chap.  I  thought  from  the  .  .  .  from 
the  ..." 

"  From  the  house,  and  the  footman,  and  the 
furniture,"  said  he.  "  Well,  they've  eaten  me  up 
among  them  .  .  .  licked  me  clean,  bones  and 
gravy.  I'm  done  for,  my  boy,  unless  .  .  ." — here 
1  saw  a  question  in  his  eyes — ''  unless  some  friend 
were  to  lend  me  his  name  on  a  bit  of  stamped 
paper." 

''  I  can't  do  it,  CuUingworth,"  said  I.  *'  It's  a 
wretched  thing  to  have  to  refuse  a  friend  ;  and  if  I 
had  money  ..." 

'*  Wait  till  you're  asked,  Munro,"  he  inter- 
rupted, with  his  ugliest  of  expressions.  '*  Besides, 
as  you  have  nothing  and  no  prospects,  what 
earthly  use  would  j'our  name  on  a  paper  be?" 

''  That's  what  I  want  to  know,"  said  I,  feeling  a 
little  mortified,  none  the  less. 

"  Look  here,  laddie,"  he  went  on ;  ''  d'you  see 
that  pile  of  letters  on  the  left  of  the  table?" 

'*  Yes." 

''Those  are  duns.     And  d'you  see  those  docu- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  31 

ments  on  the  right?  Well,  those  are  County 
Court  summonses.  And,  now,  d'you  see  that ;  "  he 
picked  up  a  little  ledger,  and  showed  me  three  or 
four  names  scribbled  on  the  first  page. 

*'  That's  the  practice,"  he  roared,  and  laughed 
until  the  great  veins  jumped  out  on  his  forehead. 
His  wife  laughed  heartily  also,  just  as  she  would 
have  wept,  had  he  been  so  disposed. 

''  It's  this  way,  Munro,"  said  he,  when  he  had 
got  over  his  paroxysm.  "  You  have  probably 
heard — in  fact,  I  have  told  you  myself — that  my 
father  had  the  finest  practice  in  Scotland.  As  far 
as  I  could  judge  he  was  a  man  of  no  capacity,  but 
still  there  you  are — he  had  it." 

I  nodded  and  smoked. 

"  Well,  he's  been  dead  seven  years,  and  fifty 
nets  dipping  into  his  little  fish-pond.  However, 
when  I  passed  I  thought  my  best  move  was  to 
come  down  to  the  old  place,  and  see  whether  I 
couldn't  piece  the  thing  together  again.  The 
name  ought  to  be  worth  something,  I  thought. 
But  it  was  no  use  doing  the  thing  in  a  half  hearted 
way.  Not  a  bit  of  use  in  that,  Munro.  The  kind 
of  people  who  came  to  him  were  wealthy,  and 
must  see  a  fine  house  and  a  man  in  livery.     What 


32  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

chance  was  there  of  gathering  them  into  a  bow- 
windowed  forty- pound-a-y ear  house  with  a  grubby- 
faced  maid  at  the  door?  What  do  you  suppose  I 
did  ?  My  boy,  I  took  the  governor's  old  house, 
that  was  unlet — the  very  house  that  he  kept  up  at 
five  thousand  a  year.  Off  I  started  in  rare  style, 
and  sank  my  last  cent  in  furniture.  But  it's  no 
use,  laddie.  I  can't  hold  on  any  longer.  I  got 
two  accidents  and  an  epileptic — twenty-two 
pounds,  eight  and  sixpence — that's  the  lot !  " 

**  What  will  you  do,  then  ?  " 

''  That's  what  I  wanted  your  advice  about. 
That's  why  I  wired  for  you.  I  always  respected 
your  opinion,  my  boy,  and  I  thought  that  now  was 
the  time  to  have  it.'' 

It  struck  me  that  if  he  had  asked  for  it  nine 
months  before  there  would  have  been  more  sense 
in  it.  What  on  earth  could  I  do  when  affairs  were 
in  such  a  tangle  ?  However,  I  could  not  help  feel- 
ing complimented  when  so  independent  a  fellow  as 
CuUingworth  turned  to  me  in  this  way. 

'*  You  really  think,"  said  I,  '*  that  it  is  no  use 
holding  on  here?  " 

He  jumped  up,  and  began  pacing  the  room  in 
his  swift  jerky  way. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  33 

''You  take  warning  from  it,  Munro,"  said  he. 
"  You've  got  to  start  yet.  Take  my  tip,  and  go 
where  no  one  knows  you.  People  will  trust  a 
stranger  quick  enough  ;  but  if  they  can  remember 
you  as  a  little  chap  who  ran  about  in  knicker- 
bockers, and  got  spanked  with  a  hair  brush  for 
stealing  plums,  they  are  not  going  to  put  their 
lives  in  your  keeping.  It's  all  very  well  to  talk 
about  friendship  and  family  connections  ;  but 
when  a  man  has  a  pain  in  the  stomach  he  doesn't 
care  a  toss  about  all  that.  I'd  stick  it  up  in  gold 
letters  in  every  medical  class-room — have  it  carved 
across  the  gate  of  the  University — that  if  a  man 
wants  friends  he  must  go  among  strangers.  It's 
all  up  here,  Munro ;  so  there's  no  use  in  advising 
me  to  hold  on." 

I  asked  him  how  much  he  owed.  It  came  to 
about  seven  hundred  pounds.  The  rent  alone  was 
two  hundred.  He  had  already  raised  money  on 
the  furniture,  and  his  whole  assets  came  to  less 
than  a  tenner.  Of  course,  there  was  only  one  pos- 
sible thing  that  I  could  advise. 

''  You  must  call  your  creditors  together,"  said 
I;  "they  can  see  for  themselves  that  you  are 
young  and   energetic — sure   to  succeed   sooner  or 


34 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


later.  If  they  push  you  into  a  corner  now,  they 
can  get  nothing.  Make  that  clear  to  them.  But 
if  you  make  a  fresh  start  elsewhere  and  succeed, 
you  may  pay  them  all  in  full.  I  see  no  other  pos- 
sible way  out  of  it." 

**  I  knew  that  you'd  say  that,  and  it's  just  what 
I  thought  myself.  Isn't  it,  Hetty?  Well,  then, 
that  settles  it ;  and  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for 
your  advice,  and  that's  all  we'll  say  about  the  mat- 
ter to-night.  I've  made  my  shot  and  missed. 
Next  time  I  shall  hit,  and  it  won't  be  long  either." 

His  failure  did  not  seem  to  weigh  very  heavily 
on  his  mind,  for  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  shouting 
away  as  lustily  as  ever.  Whiskey  and  hot  water 
were  brought  in,  that  we  might  all  drink  luck  to 
the  second  venture. 

And  this  whiskey  led  us  to  what  might  have 
been  a  troublesome  affair.  Cullingworth,  who 
had  drunk  off  a  couple  of  glasses,  waited  until 
his  wife  had  left  the  room,  and  then  began  to 
talk  of  the  difficulty  of  getting  any  exercise  now 
that  he  had  to  wait  in  all  day  in  the  hope  of 
patients.  This  led  us  round  to  the  ways  in 
which  a  man  might  take  his  exercise  indoors, 
and  that  to  boxing.     Cullingworth  took  a  couple 


THE   STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS. 


35 


of  pairs  of  gloves  out  of  a  cupboard,  and  pro- 
posed that  we  should  fight  a  round  or  two  then 
and  there. 

If  I  hadn't  been  a  fool,  Bertie,  I  should 
never  have  consented.  It's  one  of  my  many 
weaknesses,  that,  whether  it's  a  woman  or  a 
man,  anything  like  a  challenge  sets  me  off.  But 
I  knew  Cullingworth's  ways,  and  I  told  you  in 
my  last  what  a  lamb  of  a  temper  he  has.  None 
the  less,  we  pushed  back  the  table,  put  the 
lamp  on  a  high  bracket,  and  stood  up  to  one 
another. 

The  moment  I  looked  him  in  the  face  I 
smelled  mischief.  He  had  a  gleam  of  settled 
malice  in  his  eye.  I  believe  it  was  my  refusal 
to  back  his  paper  which  was  running  in  his 
head.  Anyway  he  looked  as  dangerous  as  he 
could  look,  with  his  scowling  face  sunk  forward 
a  little,  his  hands  down  near  his  hips  (for  his 
boxing,  like  everything  else  about  him,  is  un- 
conventional), and  his  jaw  set  like  a  rat-trap. 

I  led  off,  and  then  in  he  came  hitting  with 
both  hands,  and  grunting  like  a  pig  at  every 
blow.  From  what  I  could  see  of  him  he  was 
no  boxer  at  all,  but  just  a  formidable  rough  and 


36  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

tumble  fighter.  I  was  guarding  with  both  hands 
for  half  a  minute,  and  then  was  rushed  clean  off 
my  legs  and  banged  up  against  the  door,  with 
my  head  nearly  through  one  of  the  panels.  He 
wouldn't  stop  then,  though  he  saw  that  I  had 
no  space  to  get  my  elbows  back  ;  and  he  let 
fly  a  right-hander  which  would  have  put  me 
into  the  hall,  if  I  hadn't  slipped  it  and  got  back 
to  the  middle  of   the  room. 

"  Look  here,  Cullingworth,"  said  I  ;  ''  there's 
not  much    boxing  about  this  game." 

*'  Yes,  I  hit  pretty  hard,  don't    I  ?  " 

''  If  you  come  boring  into  me  like  that,  I'm 
bound  to  hit  you  out  again,"  I  said.  **  I  want 
to  play  light  if   you'll    let  me." 

The  words  were  not  out  of  my  mouth  before 
he  was  on  me  like  a  flash.  I  slipped  him  again ; 
but  the  room  was  so  small,  and  he  as  active 
as  a  cat,  that  there  was  no  getting  away  from 
him.  He  was  on  me  once  more  with  a  regu- 
lar football  rush  that  knocked  me  off  my 
balance.  Before  I  knew  where  I  was  he  got  his 
left  on  the  mark  and  his  right  on  my  ear.  I 
tripped  over  a  footstool,  and  then  before  I  could 
get   my    balance    he    had    me    on    the    same    ear 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  37 

again,  and  my  head  was  singing-  like  a  tea- 
kettle. He  was  as  pleased  as  possible  with 
himself,  blowing  out  his  chest  and  slapping  it 
with  his  palms  as  he  took  his  place  in  the 
middle   of   the    room. 

"  Say  when  you've  had  enough,  Munro," 
said  he. 

This  was  pretty  stiff,  considering  that  I  had 
two  inches  the  better  of  him  in  height,  and  as 
many  stone  in  weight,  besides  being  the  better 
boxer.  His  energy  and  the  size  of  the  room 
had  been  against  me  so  far,  but  he  wasn't  to 
have  all  the  slogging  to  himself  in  the  next 
round  if  I  could  help  it. 

In  he  came  with  one  of  his  windmill 
rushes.  But  I  was  on  the  look-out  for  him 
this  time.  I  landed  him  with  my  left  a  regu- 
lar nose-ender  as  he  came,  and  then,  ducking 
under  his  left,  I  got  him  a  cross-counter  on  the 
jaw  that  laid  him  flat  across  his  own  hearthrug. 
He  was  up  in  an  instant,  with  a  face  like  a 
madman. 

*'  You  swine ! "  he  shouted.  "  Take  those 
gloves  off,  and  put  your  hands  up  ! "  He  was 
tugging  at  his  own  to  get  them  off. 


38  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

''  Go  on,  you  silly  ass ! "  said  I.  "  What  is 
there  to  fight  about  ?  " 

He  was  mad  with  passion,  and  chucked  his 
gloves  down  under  the  table. 

"  By  God,  Munro,"  he  cried,  "  if  you  don't 
take  those  gloves  off,  I'll  go  for  you,  whether 
you  have  them  on  or  not." 

"  Have  a  glass  of  soda  water,"  said   I. 

He  made  a  crack  at  me.  "  You're  afraid  of 
me,  Munro.  That's  what's  the  matter  with 
you,"  he  snarled. 

This  was  getting  too  hot,  Bertie.  I  saw  all 
the  folly  of  the  thing.  I  believed  that  I  might 
whip  him  ;  but  at  the  same  time  I  knew  that  we 
were  so  much  of  a  match  that  we  would  both 
get  pretty  badly  cut  up  without  any  possible 
object  to  serve.  For  all  that,  I  took  my  gloves 
off,  and  I  think  perhaps  it  was  the  wisest  course 
after  all.  If  Cullingworth  once  thought  he  had 
the  whiphand  of  you,  you  might  be  sorry  for  it 
afterwards. 

But,  as  fate  would  have  it,  our  little  barney 
was  nipped  in  the  bud.  Mrs.  Cullingworth  came 
into  the  room  at  that  instant,  and  screamed  out 
when    she    saw     her     husband.       His     nose    was 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  39 

bleeding  and  his  chin  was  all  slobbered  with 
blood,  so  that  I  don't  wonder  that  it  gave  her  a 
turn. 

''James!"  she  screamed;  and  then  to  me: 
*'  What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Mr.  Munro?" 

You  should  have  seen  the  hatred  in  her 
dove's  eyes.  I  felt  an  insane  impulse  to  pick 
her  up  and  kiss  her. 

"  We've  only  been  having  a  little  spar,  Mrs. 
CuUingworth,"  said  I.  '*  Your  husband  was 
complaining  that  he  never  got  any  exercise." 

"  It's  all  right,  Hetty,"  said  he,  pulling  his 
coat  on  again.  "  Don't  be  a  little  stupid.  Are 
the  servants  gone  to  bed  ?  Well,  you  might 
bring  some  water  in  a  basin  from  the  kitch- 
en. Sit  down,  Munro,  and  light  your  pipe 
again.  I  have  a  hundred  things  that  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  about." 

So  that  was  the  end  of  it,  and  all  went 
smoothly  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  But,  for 
all  that,  the  little  wife  will  always  look  upon  me 
as  a  brute  and  a  bully  ;  while  as  to  CuUing- 
worth  well,    it's    rather    difficult    to    say    what 

CuUingworth  thinks  about  the  matter. 

When    I    woke   next    morning    he    was   in   my 


40  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

room,  and  a  funny-looking  object  he  was.  His 
dressing-gown  lay  on  a  chair,  and  he  was  put- 
ting up  a  fifty-six  pound  dumb-bell,  without  a  rag 
to  cover  him.  Nature  didn't  give  him  a  very 
symmetrical  face,  nor  the  sweetest  of  expres- 
sions ;  but  he  has  a  figure  like  a  Greek  statue. 
I  was  amused  to  see  that  both  his  eyes  had  a 
touch  of  shadow  to  them.  It  was  his  turn  to 
grin  when  I  sat  up  and  found  that  my  ear  was 
about  the  shape  and  consistence  of  a  toadstool. 
However,  he  was  all  for  peace  that  morning, 
and  chatted  away  in  the  most  amiable  manner 
possible. 

I  was  to  go  back  to  my  father's  that  day,  but  I 
had  a  couple  of  hours  with  Cullingworth  in  his 
consulting  room  before  I  left.  He  was  in  his  best 
form,  and  full  of  a  hundred  fantastic  schemes,  by 
which  I  was  to  help  him.  His  great  object  was  to 
get  his  name  into  the  newspapers.  That  was  the 
basis  of  all  success,  according  to  his  views.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  he  was  confounding  cause  with 
effect;  but  I  did  not  argue  the  point.  I  laughed 
until  my  sides  ached  over  the  grotesque  suggestions 
which  poured  from  him.  I  was  to  lie  senseless  in 
the  roadway,  and  to  be  carried  into  him  by  a  sym- 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  41 

pathising  crowd,  while  the  footman  ran  with  a 
paragraph  to  the  newspapers.  But  there  was  the 
likelihood  that  the  crowd  might  carry  me  in  to  the 
rival  practitioner  opposite.  In  various  disguises  I 
was  to  feign  fits  at  his  very  door,  and  so  furnish 
fresh  copy  for  the  local  press.  Then  I  was  to  die 
— absolutely  to  expire — and  all  Scotland  was  to  re- 
sound with  how  Dr.  Cullingworth,  of  Avonmouth, 
had  resuscitated  me.  His  ingenious  brain  rang  a 
thousand  changes  out  of  the  idea,  and  his  own  im- 
pending bankruptcy  was  crowded  right  out  of  his 
thoughts  by  the  flood  of  half-serious  devices. 

But  the  thing  that  took  the  fun  out  of  him,  and 
made  him  gnash  his  teeth,  and  stride  cursing  about 
the  room,  was  to  see  a  patient  walking  up  the 
steps  which  led  to  the  door  of  Scarsdale,  his  oppo- 
site neighbour.  Scarsdale  had  a  fairly  busy  prac- 
tice, and  received  his  people  at  home  from  ten  to 
twelve,  so  that  I  got  quite  used  to  seeing  Culling- 
worth fly  out  of  his  chair,  and  rush  raving  to  the 
window.  He  would  diagnose  the  cases,  too,  and 
estimate  their  money  value  until  he  was  hardly  ar- 
ticulate. 

''  There  you  are  ! "  he  would  suddenly  yell ; 
"see  that  man  with    a   limp!     Every  morning  he 


42 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


goes.  Displaced  semilunar  cartilage,  and  a  three 
months'  job.  The  man's  worth  thirty-five  shillings 
a  week.  And  there !  I'm  hanged  if  the  woman 
with  the  rheumatic  arthritis  isn't  round  in  her 
bath-chair  again.  She's  all  sealskin  and  lactic 
acid.  It's  simply  sickening  to  see  how  they  crowd 
to  that  man.  And  such  a  man  !  You  haven't  seen 
him.  All  the  better  for  you.  I  don't  know  what 
the  devil  you  are  laughing  at,  Munro.  I  can't  see 
where  the  fun  comes  in  myself." 

Well,  it  was  a  short  experience  that  visit  to 
Avonmouth,  but  I  think  that  I  shall  remember  it 
all  my  life.  Goodness  knows,  you  must  be  sick 
enough  of  the  subject,  but  when  I  started  with  so 
much  detail  I  was  tempted  to  go.  It  ended  by  my 
going  back  again  in  the  afternoon,  Cullingworth 
assuring  me  that  he  would  call  his  creditors  to- 
gether as  I  had  advised,  and  that  he  would  let  me 
know  the  result  in  a  few  daj's.  Mrs.  C.  would 
hardly  shake  hands  with  me  when  I  said  good- 
bye ;  but  I  like  her  the  better  for  that.  He  must 
have  a  great  deal  of  good  in  him,  or  he  could  not 
have  won  her  love  and  confidence  so  completely. 
Perhaps  there  is  another  Cullingworth  behind  the 
scenes — a  softer,  tenderer  man,  who  can   love  and 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  43 

invite  love.  If  there  is,  I  have  never  got  near  him. 
And  yet  I  may  only  have  been  tapping  at  the  shell. 
Who  knows  ?  For  that  matter,  it  is  likely  enough 
that  he  has  never  got  at  the  real  Johnnie  Munro. 
But  you  have,  Bertie ;  and  I  think  that  you've  had 
a  little  too  much  of  him  this  time,  only  you  encour- 
age me  to  this  sort  of  excess  by  your  sympathetic 
replies.  Well,  I've  done  as  much  as  the  General 
Post  Office  will  carry  for  fivepence,  so  I'll  con- 
clude by  merely  remarking  that  a  fortnight  has 
passed,  and  that  I  have  had  no  news  from  Avon- 
mouth,  which  does  not  in  the  very  slightest  degree 
surprise  me.  If  I  ever  do  hear  anything,  which  is 
exceedingly  doubtful,  you  may  be  sure  that  I  will 
put  a  finish  to  this  long  story. 


III. 

Home,  i^th  October,  iS8i. 

Without  any  figure  of  speech  I  feel  quite 
ashamed  when  I  think  of  you,  Bertie.  I  send 
you  one  or  two  enormously  long  letters,  bur- 
dened, as  far  as  I  can  remember  them,  with 
all  sorts  of  useless  detail.  Then,  in  spite  of 
your  kindly  answers  and  your  sympathy,  which  I 
have  done  so  little  to  deserve,  I  drop  you  com- 
pletely for  more  than  six  months.  By  this  J  pen  I 
swear  that  it  shall  not  happen  again  ;  and  this  let- 
ter may  serve  to  bridge  the  gap  and  to  bring  you 
up  to  date  in  my  poor  affairs,  in  which,  of  all  outer 
mankind,  you  alone  take  an  interest. 

To  commence  with  what  is  of  most  moment, 
you  may  rest  assured  that  what  you  said  in  your 
last  letter  about  religion  has  had  my  most  earnest 
attention.  I  am  sorry  that  I  have  not  got  it  by 
me  to  refer  to  (I  lent  it  to  Charlie),  but  I  think  I 
have  the  contents  in  my  head.     It  is  notorious,  as 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  45 

you  say,  that  an  unbeliever  may  be  as  bigoted 
as  any  of  the  orthodox,  and  that  a  man  may 
be  very  dogmatic  in  his  opposition  to  dogma. 
Such  men  are  the  real  enemies  of  free  thought.  If 
anything  could  persuade  me  to  turn  traitor  to  my 
reason,  it  would,  for  example,  be  the  blasphemous 
and  foolish  pictures  displayed  in  some  of  the  ag- 
nostic journals. 

But  every  movement  has  its  crowd  of  camp 
followers,  who  straggle  and  scatter.  We  are  like  a 
comet,  bright  at  the  head  but  tailing  away  into 
mere  gas  behind.  However,  every  man  may 
speak  for  himself,  and  I  do  not  feel  that  your 
charge  comes  home  to  me.  I  am  only  bigoted 
against  bigotry,  and  that  I  hold  to  be  as  legitimate 
as  violence  to  the  violent.  When  one  considers 
what  effect  the  perversion  of  the  religious  instinct 
has  had  during  the  history  of  the  world  ;  the  bitter 
wars,  Christian  and  Mahomedan,  CathoHc  and 
Protestant;  the  persecutions,  the  torturings,  the 
domestic  hatreds,  the  petty  spites,  with  all  creeds 
equally  blood-guilty,  one  cannot  but  be  amazed 
that  the  concurrent  voice  of  mankind  has  not 
placed  bigotry  at  the  very  head  of  the  deadly  sins. 
It  is  surely  a  truism   to  say  that  neither  smallpox 


46 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


nor  the  plague  have  brought  the  same  misery  upon 
mankind. 

I  cannot  be  bigoted,  my  dear  boy,  when  I  say 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  that  I  respect  every 
good  Catholic  and  every  good  Protestant,  and  that 
I  recognise  that  each  of  these  forms  of  faith  has 
been  a  powerful  instrument  in  the  hands  of  that  in- 
scrutable Providence  which  rules  all  things.  Just 
as  in  the  course  of  history  one  finds  that  the  most 
far-reaching  and  admirable  effects  may  proceed 
from  a  cr.ime ;  so  in  religion,  although  a  creed  be 
founded  upon  an  entirely  inadequate  conception  of 
the  Creator  and  His  ways,  it  may  none  the  less  be 
the  very  best  practical  thing  for  the  people  and 
age  which  have  adopted  it.  But  if  it  is  right  for 
those  to  whom  it  is  intellectually  satisfying  to 
adopt  it,  it  is  equally  so  for  those  to  whom  it  is  not, 
to  protest  against  it,  until  by  this  process  the  whole 
mass  of  mankind  gets  gradually  leavened,  and 
pushed  a  little  further  upon  their  slow  upward 
journey. 

Catholicism  is  the  more  thorough.  Protestant- 
ism is  the  more  reasonable.  Protestantism  adapts 
itself  to  modern  civilisation.  Catholicism  expects 
civilisation  to  adapt  itself  to  it.     Folk  climb  from 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  47 

the  one  big  branch  to  the  other  big  branch,  and 
think  they  have  made  a  prodigious  change,  when 
the  main  trunk  is  rotten  beneath  them,  and  both 
must  in  their  present  forms  be  involved  sooner  or 
later  in  a  common  ruin.  The  movement  of  human 
thought,  though  slow,  is  still  in  the  direction  of 
truth,  and  the  various  religions  which  man  sheds 
as  he  advances  (each  admirable  in  its  day)  will 
serve,  like  buoys  dropped  down  from  a  sailing 
vessel,  to  give  the  rate  and  direction  of  his  prog- 
ress. 

But  how  do  I  know  what  is  truth,  you  ask? 
I  don't.  But  I  know  particularly  well  what 
isn't.  And  surely  that  is  something  to  have 
gained.  It  isn't  true  that  the  great  central 
Mind  that  planned  all  things  is  capable  of 
jealousy  or  of  revenge,  or  of  cruelty  or  of  in- 
justice. These  are  human  attributes ;  and  the 
book  which  ascribes  them  to  the  Infinite  must 
be  human  also.  It  isn't  true  that  the  laws  of 
Nature  have  been  capriciously  disturbed,  that 
snakes  have  talked,  that  women  have  been 
turned  to  salt,  that  rods  have  brought  Avater  out 
of  rocks.  You  must  in  honesty  confess  that  if 
these    things    were    presented     to    us    when    we 


48  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

were  adults  for  the  first  time,  we  should  smik 
at  them.  It  isn't  true  that  the  Fountain  of  all 
common  sense  should  punish  a  race  for  a  venial 
offence  committed  bj  a  person  long  since  dead, 
and  then  should  add  to  the  crass  injustice  by 
heaping  the  whole  retribution  upon  a  single  in- 
nocent scapegoat.  Can  you  not  see  all  the  want 
of  justice  and  logic,  to  say  nothing  of  the  want 
of  mercy,  involved  in  such  a  conception  ?  Can 
you  not  see  it,  Bertie  ?  How  can  you  blind 
yourself  to  it !  Take  your  eyes  away  from  the 
details  for  a  moment,  and  look  at  this  root  idea 
of  the  predominant  Faith.  Is  the  general  con- 
ception of  it  consistent  with  infinite  wisdom  and 
mercy  ?  If  not,  what  becomes  of  the  dog- 
mas, the  sacraments,  the  whole  scheme  which  is 
founded  upon  this  sand-bank  ?  Courage,  my 
friend  !  At  the  right  moment  all  will  be  laid 
aside,  as  the  man  whose  strength  increases  lays 
down  the  crutch  which  has  been  a  good  friend 
to  him  in  his  weakness.  But  his  changes  won't 
be  over  then.  His  hobble  will  become  a  walk, 
and  his  walk  a  run.  There  is  no  finality — can 
be  none  since  the  question  concerns  the  infinite. 
All  this,  which  appears  too  advanced    to  you  to- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


49 


day,  will  seem  reactionary  and  conservative  a 
thousand  years  hence. 

Since  I  am  upon  this  topic,  may  I  say  just  a 
little  more  without  boring  you  ?  You  say  that 
criticism  such  as  mine  is  merely  destructive,  and 
that  I  have  nothing  to  offer  in  place  of  what  I 
pull  down.  This  is  not  quite  correct.  I  think 
that  there  are  certain  elemental  truths  within 
our  grasp  which  ask  for  no  faith  for  their  ac- 
ceptance, and  which  are  sufficient  to  furnish  us 
with  a  practical  religion,  having  so  much  of 
reason  in  it  that  it  w^ould  draw  thinking  men 
into  its  fold,  not  drive  them  forth  from  it. 

When  we  all  get  back  to  these  elemental  and 
provable  facts  there  will  be  some  hopes  of  end- 
ing the  petty  bickerings  of  creeds,  and  of  in- 
cluding the  whole  human  family  in  one  compre- 
hensive system  of  thought. 

When  first  I  came  out  of  the  faith  in  which 
I  had  been  reared,  I  certainly  did  feel  for  a  time 
as  if  my  life-belt  had  burst.  I  won't  exaggerate 
and  say  that  I  was  miserable  and  plunged  in 
utter  spiritual  darkness.  Youth  is  too  full  of  ac- 
tion for  that.  But  I  was  conscious  of  a  vague 
unrest,    of     a    constant    want    of     repose,    of    an 


so 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


emptiness  and  hardness  which  I  had  not  noticed 
in  life  before.  I  had  so  identified  religion  with 
the  Bible  that  I  could  not  conceive  them  apart. 
When  the  foundation  proved  false,  the  whole 
structure  came  rattling  about  my  ears.  And 
then  good  old  Carljle  came  to  the  rescue  ;  and 
partl}^  from  him,  and  partly  from  my  own 
broodings,  I  made  a  little  hut  of  my  own,  which 
has  kept  me  snug  ever  since,  and  has  even 
served  to  shelter  a  friend  or  two  besides. 

The  first  and  main  thing  was  to  get  it 
thoroughly  soaked  into  one  that  the  existence  of 
a  Creator  and  an  indication  of  His  attributes 
does  in  no  way  depend  upon  Jewish  poets,  nor 
upon  human  paper  or  printing  ink.  On  the 
contrary,  all  such  efforts  to  realise  Him  must 
only  belittle  Him,  bringing  the  Infinite  down  to 
the  narrow  terms  of  human  thought,  at  a  time 
when  that  thought  was  in  the  main  less  spiritual 
than  it  is  at  present.  Even  the  most  material  of 
modern  minds  would  fiinch  at  depicting  the 
Deity  as  ordering  wholesale  executions,  and 
hacking  kings  to  pieces  upon  the  horns  of 
altars. 

Then     having     prepared     your     mind     for     a 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


5 


higher  (if  perhaps  a  vaguer)  idea  of  the  Deity, 
proceed  to  study  Him  in  His  works,  which  can- 
not be  counterfeited  or  manipulated.  Nature  is 
the  true  revelation  of  the  Deity  to  man.  The 
nearest  green  field  is  the  inspired  page  from 
which  you  may  read  all  that  it  is  needful  for 
you  to  know. 

I  confess  that  I  have  never  been  able  to  un- 
derstand the  position  of  the  atheist.  In  fact,  I 
have  come  to  disbelieve  in  his  existence,  and  to 
look  upon  the  word  as  a  mere  term  of  theo- 
logical reproach.  It  may  represent  a  temporary 
condition,  a  passing  mental  phase,  a  defiant  re- 
action against  an  anthropomorphic  ideal  ;  but  I 
cannot  conceive  that  any  man  can  continue  to 
survey  Nature  and  to  deny  that  there  are  laws 
at  work  which  display  intelligence  and  power. 
The  very  existence  of  a  world  carries  with  it 
the  proof  of  a  world-maker,  as  the  table  guaran- 
tees the  pre-existence  of  the  carpenter.  Grant- 
ing this,  one  may  form  what  conception  one 
will  of  that  Maker,  but  one  cannot  be  an 
atheist. 

Wisdom  and  power  and  means  directed  to  an 
end    run     all     through     the    scheme    of    Nature. 


52 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


What  proof  do  we  want,  then,  from  a  book?  If 
the  man  who  observes  the  myriad  stars,  and 
considers  that  they  and  their  innumerable  satel- 
lites move  in  their  serene  dignity  through  the 
heavens,  each  swinging  clear  of  the  other's  orbit 
— if,  I  say,  the  man  who  sees  this  cannot  realise 
the  Creator's  attributes  without  the  help  of  the 
book  of  Job,  then  his  view  of  things  is  beyond 
my  understanding.  Nor  is  it  only  in  the  large 
things  that  we  see  the  ever  present  solicitude 
of  some  intelligent  force.  Nothing  is  too  tiny 
for  that  fostering  care.  We  see  the  minute  pro- 
boscis of  the  insect  carefully  adjusted  to  fit  into 
the  calyx  of  the  flower,  the  most  microscopic 
hair  and  gland  each  with  its  definite  purposeful 
function  to  perform.  What  matter  whether 
these  came  by  special  creation  or  by  evolution  ? 
We  know  as  a  matter  of  fact  that  they  came  by 
evolution,  but  that  onl}^  defines  the  law.  It  does 
not  explain  it. 

But  if  this  power  has  cared  for  the  bee  so  as 
to  furnish  it  with  its  honey  bag  and  its  collect- 
ing forceps,  and  for  the  lowly  seed  so  as  to 
have  a  thousand  devices  by  which  it  reaches  a 
congenial    soil,    then    is    it    conceivable    that    we, 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


53 


the  highest  product  of  all,  are  overlooked  ?  It 
is  not  conceivable.  The  idea  is  inconsistent  with 
the  scheme  of  creation  as  we  see  it.  I  say 
again  that  no  faith  is  needed  to  attain  the  cer- 
tainty of  a  most  watchful  Providence. 

And  with  this  certainty  surely  we  have  all 
that  is  necessary  for  an  elemental  religion. 
Come  what  may  after  death,  our  duties  lie 
clearly  defined  before  us  in  this  life ;  and  the 
ethical  standard  of  all  creeds  agrees  so  far  that 
there  is  not  likely  to  be  any  diflerence  of  opin- 
ion as  to  that.  The  last  reformation  simplified 
Catholicism.  The  coming  one  will  simpHfy  Prot- 
estantism. And  when  the  world  is  ripe  for  it 
another  will  come  and  simplify  that.  The  ever 
improving  brain  will  give  us  an  ever  broadening 
creed.  Is  it  not  glorious  to  think  that  evolution 
is  still  livins:  and  acting- — that  if  we  have  an 
anthropoid  ape  as  an  ancestor,  we  may  have 
archangels  for  our  posterity  ? 

Well,  I  really  never  intended  to  inflict  all  this 
upon  you,  Bertie.  I  thought  I  could  have  made 
my  position  clear  in  a  page  or  so.  But  you  can 
see  how  one  point  has  brought  up  another.  Even 
now  I  am  leaving  so  much  unsaid.     I  can  see  with 


54 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


such  certainty  exactly  what  you  will  say.  "  If 
you  deduce  a  good  Providence  from  the  good 
things  in  nature,  what  do  you  make  of  the  evil?" 
That's  what  you  will  say.  Suffice  it  that  I  am  in- 
clined to  deny  the  existence  of  evil.  Not  another 
word  will  I  say  upon  the  subject ;  but  if  you  come 
back  to  it  yourself,  then  be  it  on  your  own 
head. 

You  remember  that  when  I  wrote  last  I  had 
just  returned  from  visiting  the  Cullingworths  at 
Avonmouth,  and  that  he  had  promised  to  let  me 
know  what  steps  he  took  in  appeasing  his  cred- 
itors. As  I  expected,  I  have  not  had  one  word 
from  him  since.  But  in  a  roundabout  way  I  did 
get  some  news  as  to  what  happened.  From  this 
account,  which  was  second-hand,  and  may  have 
been  exaggerated,  Cullingworth  did  exactly  what 
I  had  recommended,  and  calling  all  his  creditors 
together  he  made  them  a  long  statement  as  to  his 
position.  The  good  people  were  so  touched  by 
the  picture  that  he  drew  of  a  worthy  man  fighting 
against  adversity  that  several  of  them  wept,  and 
there  was  not  only  complete  unanimity  as  to  let- 
ting their  bills  stand  over,  but  even  some  talk  of 
a  collection  then  and   there  to  help  Cullingworth 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


55 


on  his  way.  He  has,  I  understand,  left  Avon- 
mouth,  but  no  one  has  any  idea  what  has  become 
of  him.  It  is  generally  supposed  that  he  has  gone 
to  England.  He  is  a  strange  fellow,  but  I  wish 
him  luck  wherever  he  goes. 

When  I  came  back  I  settled  down  once  more 
to  the  routine  of  my  father's  practice,  holding  on 
there  until  something  may  turn  up.  And  for  six 
months  I  have  had  to  wait;  a  weary  six  months 
they  have  been.  You  see  I  cannot  ask  my  father 
for  money — or,  at  least,  I  cannot  bring  myself  to 
take  an  unnecessary  penny  of  his  money — for  I 
know  how  hard  a  fight  it  is  with  him  to  keep  the 
roof  over  our  heads  and  pay  for  the  modest  little 
horse  and  trap  which  are  as  necessary  to  his  trade 
as  a  goose  is  to  a  tailor.  Foul  fare  the  grasping 
taxman  who  wrings  a  couple  of  guineas  from  us 
on  the  plea  that  it  is  a  luxury!  We  can  just  hold 
on,  and  I  would  not  have  him  a  pound  the  poorer 
for  me.  But  you  can  understand,  Bertie,  that  it 
is  humiliating  for  a  man  of  my  age  to  have  to  go 
about  without  any  money  in  my  pocket.  It  affects 
me  in  so  many  petty  ways.  A  poor  man  may  do 
me  a  kindness,  and  I  have  to  seem  mean  in  his 
eyes.     I  may  want  a  flower  for  a  girl,  and  must  be 


56  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

content  to  appear  ungallant.  I  don't  know  why  I 
should  be  ashamed  of  this,  since  it  is  no  fault  of 
mine,  and  I  hope  that  I  don't  show  it  to  any  one 
else  that  I  am  ashamed  of  it ;  but  to  you,  my  dear 
Bertie,  I  don't  mind  confessing  that  it  hurts  my 
seli-respect  terribly. 

I  have  often  wondered  why  some  of  those 
writing  fellows  don't  try  their  hands  at  drawing 
the  inner  life  of  a  young  man  from  about  the  age 
of  puberty  until  he  begins  to  find  his  feet  a  little. 
Men  are  very  fond  of  analysing  the  feelings  of 
their  heroines,  which  they  cannot  possibly  know 
anything  about,  while  they  have  little  to  say  of 
the  inner  development  of  their  heroes,  which  is  an 
experience  which  they  have  themselves  under- 
gone. I  should  like  to  try  it  myself,  but  it  would 
need  blending  with  fiction,  and  I  never  had  a 
spark  of  imagination.  But  I  have  a  vivid  recollec- 
tion of  what  I  went  through  myself.  At  the  time 
I  thought  (as  everybody  thinks)  that  it  was  a 
unique  experience ;  but  since  I  have  heard  the 
confidences  of  my  father's  patients  1  am  convinced 
that  it  is  the  common  lot.  The  shrinking,  horri- 
ble shyness,  alternating  with  occasional  absurd  fits 
of  audacity  which   represent   the  reaction  against 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


57 


it,  the  longing  for  close  friendship,  the  agonies 
over  imaginary  slights,  the  extraordinary  sexual 
doubts,  the  deadly  fears  caused  by  non-existent 
diseases,  the  vague  emotion  produced  by  all 
women,  and  the  half-frightened  thrill  by  particular 
ones,  the  aggressiveness  caused  by  fear  of  being 
afraid,  the  sudden  blacknesses,  the  profound  self- 
distrust — I  dare  bet  that  you  have  felt  every  one 
of  them,  Bertie,  just  as  I  have,  and  that  the  first 
lad  of  eighteen  whom  you  see  out  of  your  window 
is  suffering  from  them  now. 

This  is  all  a  digression,  however,  from  the  fact 
that  I  have  been  six  months  at  home  and  am  weary 
of  it,  and  pleased  at  the  new  development  of  which 
I  shall  have  to  tell  you.  The  practice  here, 
although  unremunerative,  is  very  busy  with  its 
three-and-sixpenny  visits  and  guinea  confinements, 
so  that  both  the  governor  and  I  have  had  plenty 
to  do.  You  know  how  I  admire  him,  and  yet  I 
fear  there  is  little  intellectual  sympathy  between 
us.  He  appears  to  think  that  those  opinions  of 
mine  upon  religion  and  politics  which  come  hot 
from  my  inmost  soul  have  been  assumed  either  out 
of  indifference  or  bravado.      So  I  have  ceased  to 

talk  on  vital   subjects  with   him,  and,  though  we 
5 


58 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


affect  to  ignore  it,  we  both  know  that  there  is  a 
barrier  there.  Now,  with  my  mother — ah,  but 
my  mother  must  have  a  paragraph  to  herself. 

You  met  her,  Bertie !  You  must  remember 
her  sweet  face,  her  sensitive  mouth,  her  peering, 
short-sighted  eyes,  her  general  suggestion  of  a 
plump  little  hen,  who  is  still  on  the  alert  about  her 
chickens.  But  you  cannot  realise  all  that  she  is 
to  me  in  our  domestic  life.  Those  helpful  fingers ! 
That  sympathetic  brain  !  Ever  since  I  can  remem- 
ber her  she  has  been  the  quaintest  mixture  of  the 
housewife  and  the  woman  of  letters,  with  the  high- 
bred spirited  lady  as  a  basis  for  either  character. 
Always  a  lady,  whether  she  was  bargaining  with 
the  butcher,  or  breaking  in  a  skittish  charwoman, 
or  stirring  the  porridge,  which  I  can  see  her  doing 
with  the  porridge-stick  in  one  hand,  and  the  other 
holding  her  Revue  des  deux  Monde s  within  two 
inches  of  her  dear  nose.  That  was  always  her 
favourite  reading,  and  I  can  never  think  of  her 
without  the  association  of  its  browny-yellow 
cover. 

She  is  a  very  well-read  woman  is  the  mother; 
she  keeps  up  to  date  in  French  literature  as  well 
as  in  English,  and  can  talk  by  the  hour  about  the 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


59 


Goncourts,  and  Flaubert,  and  Gautier.  Yet  she 
is  always  hard  at  work ;  and  how  she  imbibes  all 
her  knowledge  is  a  mystery.  She  reads  when  she 
knits,  she  reads  when  she  scrubs,  she  even  reads 
when  she  feeds  her  babies.  We  have  a  little  joke 
against  her,  that  at  an  interesting  passage  she  de- 
posited a  spoonful  of  rusk  and  milk  into  my  little 
sister's  ear-hole,  the  child  having  turned  her  head 
at  the  critical  instant.  Her  hands  are  worn  with 
work,  and  yet  where  is  the  idle  woman  who  has 
read  as  much  ? 

Then,  there  is  her  family  pride.  That  is  a  very 
vital  portion  of  the  mother.  You  know  how  little 
I  think  of  such  things.  If  the  Esquire  were  to  be 
snipped  once  and  for  ever  from  the  tail  of  my 
name  I  should  be  the  lighter  for  it.  But,  ma  foil 
— to  use  her  own  favourite  expletive — it  would  not 
do  to  say  this  to  her.  On  the  Packenham  side 
(she  is  a  Packenham)  the  family  can  boast  of  some 
fairly  good  men — I  mean  on  the  direct  line — but 
when  we  get  on  the  side  branches  there  is  not  a 
monarch  upon  earth  who  does  not  roost  on  that 
huge  family  tree.  Not  once,  nor  twice,  but  thrice 
did  the  Plantagenets  intermarry  with  us,  the 
Dukes  of   Brittany   courted   our  alliance,  and   the 


6o  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

Percies  of  Northumberland  intertwined  themselves 
with  our  whole  illustrious  record.  So  in  my  boy- 
hood she  would  expound  the  matter,  with  hearth- 
brush  in  one  hand  and  a  glove  full  of  cinders  in 
the  other,  while  I  would  sit  swinging  my  knicker- 
bockered  legs,  swelling  with  pride  until  my  waist- 
coat was  as  tight  as  a  sausage  skin,  as  I  contem- 
plated the  gulf  which  separated  me  from  all  other 
little  boys  who  swang  their  legs  upon  tables.  To 
this  day  if  I  chance  to  do  anything  of  which  she 
strongly  approves,  the  dear  heart  can  say  no  more 
than  that  I  am  a  thorough  Packenham  ;  while  if  I 
fall  away  from  the  straight  path,  she  says  with  a 
sigh  that  there  are  points  in  which  I  take  after 
the  Munros. 

She  is  broad-minded  and  intensely  practical 
in  her  ordinary  moods,  though  open  to  attacks 
of  romance.  I  can  recollect  her  coming  to  see 
me  at  a  junction  through  which  my  train  passed, 
with  a  six  months'  absence  on  either  side  of  the 
incident.  We  had  five  minutes'  conversation, 
my  head  out  of  the  carriage  window.  "  Wear 
flannel  next  your  skin,  my  dear  boy,  and  never 
believe  in  eternal  punishment,"  was  her  last 
item  of   advice  as  we   rolled   out   of   the    station. 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  6l 

Then  to  finish  her  portrait  I  need  not  tell  you, 
who  have  seen  her,  that  she  is  young-looking 
and  comely  to  be  the  mother  of  about  thirty-five 
feet  of  humanity.  She  was  in  the  railway  carriage 
and  I  on  the  platform  the  other  day.  "  Your 
husband  had  better  get  in  or  we'll  go  without 
him,"  said  the  guard.  As  we  went  off,  the 
mother  was  fumbling  furiously  in  her  pocket, 
and  I  know  that  she  was  looking  for  a  shilling. 

Ah  !  what  a  gossip  I  have  been !  And  all  to 
lead  up  to  the  one  sentence  that  1  could  not 
have  stayed  at  home  this  six  months  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  company  and  the  sympathy  of 
my  mother. 

Well,  now  I  want  to  tell  you  about  the 
scrape  that  I  got  myself  into.  I  suppose  that 
I  ought  to  pull  a  long  face  over  it,  but  for  the 
life  of  me  I  can't  help  laughing.  I  have  you 
almost  up  to  date  in  my  history  now,  for  what 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  happened  only  last  week. 
I  must  mention  no  names  here  even  to  you  ;  for 
the  curse  of  Ernulphus,  which  includes  eight 
and  forty  minor  imprecations,  be  upon  the  head 
of   the  man  who   kisses  and  tells. 

You  must  know,  then,  that  within  the  bound- 


62  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

aries  of  this  city  there  are  two  ladies,  a  mother 
and  a  daughter,  whom  I  shall  call  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Laura  Andrews.  They  are  patients  of  the 
governor's,  and  have  become  to  some  extent 
friends  of  the  family.  Madame  is  Welsh,  charm- 
ing in  appearance,  dignified  in  her  manners,  and 
High  Church  in  her  convictions.  The  daughter 
is  rather  taller  than  the  mother,  but  otherwise 
they  are  strikingly  alike.  The  mother  is  thirty- 
six  and  the  daughter  eighteen.  Both  are  ex- 
ceedingly charming.  Had  I  to  choose  between 
them,  I  think,  entre  noiis^  that  the  mother  would 
have  attracted  me  most,  for  I  am  thoroughly  of 
Balzac's  opinion  as  to  the  woman  of  thirty. 
However,   fate  was  to  will  it  otherwise. 

It  was  the  coming  home  from  a  dance  which 
first  brought  Laura  and  me  together.  You 
know  how  easily  and  suddenly  these  things  hap- 
pen, beginning  in  playful  teasing  and  ending  in 
something  a  little  warmer  than  friendship.  You 
squeeze  the  slender  arm  w^hich  is  passed  through 
yours,  you  venture  to  take  the  little  gloved 
hand,  you  say  good  night  at  absurd  length  in 
the  shadow  of  the  door.  It  is  innocent  and  very 
interesting,  love    trying  his  wings  in    a  first  little 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


63 


flutter.  He  will  keep  his  sustained  flight  later 
on,  the  better  for  the  practice.  There  was  never 
any  question  of  engagements  between  us,  nor 
any  suggestion  of  harm.  She  knew  that  I  was 
a  poor  devil  with  neither  means  nor  prospects, 
and  I  knew  that  her  mother's  will  was  her  law, 
and  that  her  course  was  already  marked  out  for 
her.  However,  we  exchanged  our  little  con- 
fidences, and  met  occasionally  by  appointment, 
and  tried  to  make  our  lives  brighter  without 
darkening  those  of  any  one  else.  I  can  see  you 
shake  your  head  here  and  growl,  like  the  com- 
fortable married  man  that  you  are,  that  such  re- 
lations are  very  dangerous.  So  they  are,  my 
boy :  but  neither  of  us  cared,  she  out  of  inno- 
cence and  I  out  of  recklessness,  for  from  the 
beginning  all  the  fault  in  the  matter  was  mine. 

Well,  matters  were  in  this  state  when  one 
day  last  week  a  note  came  up  to  the  Dad  say- 
ing that  Mrs.  Andrews'  servant  was  ill,  and 
would  he  come  at  once.  The  old  man  had  a 
touch  of  gout,  so  I  donned  my  professional  coat 
and  sallied  forth,  thinking  that  perhaps  I  might 
combine  pleasure  with  business,  and  have  a  few 
words    with    Laura.     Sure    enough,    as    I    passed 


64 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


up  the  gravel  drive  which  curves  round  to  the 
door,  I  glanced  through  the  drawing-room  win- 
dow, and  saw  her  sitting  painting,  with  her 
back  to  the  light.  It  was  clear  that  she  had  not 
heard  me.  The  hall  door  was  ajar,  and  when  I 
pushed  it  open,  no  one  was  in  the  hall.  A  sud- 
den fit  of  roguishness  came  over  me.  1  pushed 
the  drawing-room  door  very  slowly  wider,  crept 
in  on  tiptoe,  stole  quietly  across,  and  bending 
down,  I  kissed  the  artist  upon  the  nape  of  her 
neck.  She  turned  round  with  a  squeal,  and  it 
was  the  mother ! 

I  don't  know  whether  you  have  ever  been 
in  a  tighter  corner  than  that,  Bertie.  It  was 
quite  tight  enough  for  me.  I  remember  that 
I  smiled  as  I  stole  across  the  carpet  on  that 
insane  venture.  I  did  not  smile  again  that 
evening.  It  makes  me  hot  now  when  I  think 
of  it. 

Well,  I  made  the  most  dreadful  fool  of  my- 
self. At  first,  the  good  lady  who  (as  I  think  I 
told  you)  is  very  dignified  and  rather  reserved, 
could  not  believe  her  senses.  Then,  as  the  full 
force  of  my  enormity  came  upon  her  she  reared 
herself  up   until   she   seemed    the   tallest   and  the 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


65 


coldest  woman  I  had  ever  seen.  It  was  an  in- 
terview with  a  refrigerator.  She  asked  me  what 
I  had  ever  observed  in  her  conduct  which  had 
encouraged  me  to  subject  her  to  such  an  out- 
rage. I  saw,  of  course,  that  any  excuses  upon 
my  part  would  put  her  on  the  right  track  and 
give  poor  Laura  away  ;  so  I  stood  with  my  hair 
bristling  and  my  top  hat  in  my  hand,  present- 
ing, I  am  sure,  a  most  extraordinary  figure. 
Indeed,  she  looked  rather  funny  herself,  with 
her  palette  in  one  hand,  her  brush  in  the  other, 
and  the  blank  astonishment  on  her  face.  I  stam- 
mered out  something  about  hoping  that  she  did 
not  mind,  which  made  her  more  angry  than 
ever.  "  The  only  possible  excuse  for  your  con- 
duct, sir,  is  that  you  are  under  the  influence  of 
drink,"  said  she.  ''  I  need  not  say  that  we  do 
not  require  the  services  of  a  medical  man  in 
that  condition."  I  did  not  try  to  disabuse  her  of 
the  idea,  for  really  I  could  see  no  better  ex- 
planation ;  so  I  beat  a  retreat  in  a  very  de- 
moralised condition.  She  wrote  a  letter  to  my 
father  about  it  in  the  evening,  and  the  old  man 
was  very  angry  indeed.  As  to  the  mother,  she 
is   as   staunch   as    steel,    and    quite    prepared    to 


66  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

prove  that  poor  Mrs.  A.  was  a  very  deep  de- 
signing person,  who  had  laid  a  trap  for  innocent 
Johnnie.  So  there  has  been  a  grand  row  ;  and 
not  a  soul  upon  earth  has  the  least  idea  of  what 
it  all  means,  except  only  yourself  as  you  read 
this  letter. 

You  can  imagine  that  this  has  not  con- 
tributed to  make  life  here  more  pleasant,  for 
my  father  cannot  bring  himself  to  forgive 
me.  Of  course,  I  don't  wonder  at  his  anger. 
I  should  be  just  the  same  myself.  It  does 
look  like  a  shocking  breach  of  professional 
honour,  and  a  sad  disregard  of  his  interests. 
If  he  knew  the  truth  he  would  see  that 
it  was  nothing  worse  than  a  silly  ill-timed  boy- 
ish joke.  However,  he  never  shall  know  the 
truth. 

And  now  there  is  some  chance  of  my  getting 
something  to  do.  We  had  a  letter  to-night  from 
Christie  &  Howden,  the  writers  to  the  Signet, 
saying  that  they  desire  an  interview  with  me,  in 
view  of  a  possible  appointment.  We  can't  im- 
agine what  it  means,  but  I  am  full  of  hopes.  I 
go  to-morrow  morning  to  see  them,  and  I  shall 
let   you  know  the  result. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  6/ 

Good-bye,  my  dear  Bertie  !  Your  life  flows 
in  a  steady  stream,  and  mine  in  a  broken  tor- 
rent. Yet  I  would  have  every  detail  of  what 
happens  to  you. 


IV. 

Home,  ist  December,  1881. 
I  MAY  be  doing-  you  an  injustice,  Bertie,  but 
it  seemed  to  me  in  your  last  that  there  were  in- 
dications that  the  free  expression  of  my  religious 
views  had  been  distasteful  to  you.  That  you 
should  disagree  with  me  I  am  prepared  for ;  but 
that  you  should  object  to  free  and  honest  dis- 
cussion of  those  subjects  which  above  all  others 
men  should  be  honest  over,  would,  I  confess,  be 
a  disappointment.  The  Freethinker  is  placed  at 
this  disadvantage  in  ordinary  society,  that  where- 
as it  would  be  considered  very  bad  taste  upon 
his  part  to  obtrude  his  unorthodox  opinion,  no 
such  consideration  hampers  those  with  whom  he 
disagrees.  There  was  a  time  when  it  took  a 
brave  man  to  be  a  Christian.  Now  it  takes  a 
brave  man  not  to  be.  But  if  we  are  to  wear  a 
gag,  and  hide  our  thoughts  when  writing  in 
confidence    to    our    most    intimate no,    but    I 


08 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  69 

won't  believe  it.  You  and  I  have  put  up  too 
many  thoughts  together  and  chased  them  w^here- 
ever  they  would  double,  Bertie  ;  so  just  write  to 
me  like  a  good  fellow,  and  tell  me  that  I  am  an 
ass.  Until  I  have  that  comforting  assurance,  I 
shall  place  a  quarantine  upon  everything  which 
could  conceivably  be  offensive  to  you. 

Does  not  lunacy  strike  you,  Bertie,  as  being 
a  very  eerie  thing  ?  It  is  a  disease  of  the  soul. 
To  think  that  you  may  have  a  man  of  noble 
mind,  full  of  every  lofty  aspiration,  and  that  a 
gross  physical  cause,  such  as  the  fall  of  a  spicule 
of  bone  from  the  inner  table  of  his  skull  on  to 
the  surface  of  the  membrane  which  covers  his 
brain,  may  have  the  ultimate  effect  of  turning 
him  into  an  obscene  creature  with  every  bestial 
attribute !  That  a  man's  individuality  should 
swing  round  from  pole  to  pole,  and  yet  that 
one  life  should  contain  these  two  contradictory 
personalities — is  it  not  a  wondrous  thing  ? 

I  ask  myself,  where  is  the  man,  the  very, 
very  inmost  essence  of  the  man  ?  See  how 
much  you  may  subtract  from  him  without  touch- 
ing it.  It  does  not  lie  in  the  limbs  which  serve 
him  as  tools,  nor  in   the   apparatus    by  which  he 


70 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


is  to  digest,  nor  in  that  by  which  he  is  to  in- 
hale oxygen.  All  these  are  mere  accessories,  the 
slaves  of  the  lord  within.  Where,  then,  is  he  ? 
He  does  not  lie  in  the  features  which  are  to  ex- 
press his  emotions,  nor  in  the  eyes  and  ears 
which  can  be  dispensed  with  by  the  blind 
and  deaf.  Nor  is  he  in  the  bony  framework 
which  is  the  rack  over  which  nature  hangs 
her  veil  of  fiesh.  In  none  of  these  things  lies 
the  essence  of  the  man.  And  now  what  is 
left?  An  arched  whitish  putty-like  mass,  some 
fifty  odd  ounces  in  weight,  with  a  number  of 
white  filaments  hanorino-  down  from  it,  looking: 
not  unlike  the  medusae  which  fioat  in  our  sum- 
mer seas.  But  these  filaments  only  serve  to 
conduct  nerve  force  to  muscles  and  to  organs 
which  serve  secondary  purposes.  They  may 
themselves  therefore  be  disregarded.  Nor  can 
we  stop  here  in  our  elimination.  This  central 
mass  of  nervous  matter  may  be  pared  down  on 
all  sides  before  w^e  seem  to  get  at  the  very  seat 
of  the  soul.  Suicides  have  shot  away  the  front 
lobes  of  the  brain,  and  have  lived  to  repent  it. 
Surgeons  have  cut  down  upon  it  and  have  re- 
moved   sections.     Much    of   it   is   merely   for   the 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


71 


purpose  of  furnishing-  the  springs  of  motion,  and 
much  for  the  reception  of  impressions.  All  this 
may  be  put  aside  as  we  search  for  the  physical 
seat  of  what  we  call  the  soul — the  spiritual  part 
of  the  man.  And  what  is  left  then  ?  A  little 
blob  of  matter,  a  handful  of  nervous  dough,  a 
few  ounces  of  tissue,  but  there — somewhere 
there — lurks  that  impalpable  seed,  to  which  the 
rest  of  our  frame  is  but  the  pod.  The  old 
philosophers  who  put  the  soul  in  the  pineal 
gland  were  not  right,  but  after  all  they  were 
uncommonly  near  the  mark. 

You'll  find  my  physiology  even  worse  than 
my  theology,  Bertie.  I  have  a  way  of  telling 
stories  backwards  to  you,  which  is  natural 
enough  when  you  consider  that  I  always  sit 
down  to  write  under  the  influence  of  the  last 
impressions  which  have  come  upon  me.  All 
this  talk  about  the  soul  and  the  brain  arises 
simply  from  the  fact  that  I  have  been  spending 
the  last  few  weeks  with  a  lunatic.  And  how  it 
came  about    I    will    tell    you    as    clearl}^  as  I  can. 

You  remember  that  in  my  last  I  explained 
to  you  how  restive  I  had  been  getting  at  home, 
and    how    my    idiotic    mistake    had   annoyed    my 


72 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


father  and  had  made  my  position  here  very  un- 
comfortable. Then  I  mentioned,  I  think,  that  I 
had  received  a  letter  from  Christie  &  Howden, 
the  lawyers.  Well,  I  brushed  up  my  Sunday 
hat,  and  my  mother  stood  on  a  chair  and  landed 
me  twice  on  the  ear  with  a  clothes  brush,  under 
the  impression  that  she  was  making  the  collar 
of  my  overcoat  look  more  presentable.  With 
which  accolade  out  I  sallied  into  the  world,  the 
dear  soul  standing  on  the  steps,  peering  after 
me  and  waving  me  success. 

Well,  I  was  in  considerable  trepidation  when 
I  reached  the  office,  for  I  am  a  much  more 
nervous  person  than  any  of  my  friends  will  ever 
credit  me  with  being.  However,  I  was  shown 
in  at  once  to  Mr.  James  Christie,  a  wiry,  sharp, 
thin-lipped  kind  of  man,  with  an  abrupt  manner, 
and  that  sort  of  Scotch  precision  of  speech 
which  gives  the  impression  of  clearness  of 
thought   behind  it. 

"  I  understand  from  P.rof(?ssor  Maxwell  that 
you  have  been  looking  about  for  an  opening, 
Mr.  Munro,"  said  he.  Maxwell  had  said  that 
he  would  give  me  a  hand  if  he  could  ;  but  you 
remember    that   he    had   a    reputation   for    giving 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  73 

such  promises  rather  easily.  I  speak  of  a  man 
as  I  find  him,  and  to  me  he  has  been  an  excel- 
lent friend. 

"  I  should  be  very  happy  to  hear  of  any  open- 
ing," said  1. 

"  Of  your  medical  qualifications  there  is  no 
need  to  speak,"  he  went  on,  running  his  eyes  all 
over  me  in  the  most  questioning  way.  "  Your 
Bachelorship  of  Medicine  will  answer  for  that. 
But  Professor  Maxwell  thought  you  peculiarly 
fitted  for  this  vacancy  for  physical  reasons.  May 
1  ask  you  what  your  weight  is?" 

"  Fourteen  stone." 

"  x\nd  you  stand,  I  should  judge,  about  six  feet 
high?" 

"  Precisely." 

"  Accustomed  too,  as  I  gather,  to  muscular  ex- 
ercise of  every  kind.  Well,  there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion that  you  are  the  very  man  for  the  post,  and  I 
shall  be  very  happy  to  recommend  you  to  Lord 
Saltire." 

*'  You    forget,"    said    I,    "  that    I    have    not  yet 

heard  what  the  position  is,  or  the  terms  which  you 

offer." 

He   began  to  laugh   at  that.     '*  It   was  a  little 
6 


74 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


precipitate  on  my  part,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  do  not 
think  that  we  are  likely  to  quarrel  as  to  position  or 
terms.  You  may  have  heard  perhaps  of  the  sad 
misfortune  of  our  client,  Lord  Saltire?  Not? 
To  put  it  briefly  then,  his  son,  the  Hon.  James 
Derwent,  the  heir  to  the  estates  and  the  only  child, 
was  struck  down  by  the  sun  while  fishing  without 
his  hat  last  July.  His  mind  has  never  recovered 
from  the  shock,  and  he  has  been  ever  since  in  a 
chronic  state  of  moody  suUenness  which  breaks 
out  every  now  and  then  into  violent  mania.  His 
father  will  not  allow  him  to  be  removed  from 
LochtuUy  Castle,  and  it  is  his  desire  that  a  medical 
man  should  stay  there  in  constant  attendance  upon 
his  son.  Your  physical  strength  would  of  course 
be  very  useful  in  restraining  those  violent  attacks 
of  which  1  have  spoken.  The  remuneration  will 
be  twelve  pounds  a  month,  and  you  would  be 
required  to  take  over  your  duties  to-morrow." 

I  walked  home,  my  dear  Bertie,  with  a  bound- 
ing heart,  and  the  pavement  like  cotton  wool 
under  my  feet.  I  found  just  eightpence  in  my 
pocket,  and  I  spent  the  whole  of  it  on  a  really  good 
cisrar  with  which  to  celebrate  the  occasion.  Old 
Culling  worth   has  always   had  a  very  high  opinion 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


75 


of  lunatics  for  beginners.  "  Get  a  lunatic,  my  boy ! 
Get  a  lunatic  !  "  he  used  to  say.  Then  it  was  not 
only  the  situation,  but  the  fine  connection  that  it 
opened  up.  I  seemed  to  see  exactly  what  would 
happen.  There  would  be  illness  in  the  family, — 
Lord  Saltire  himself  perhaps,  or  his  wife.  There 
would  be  no  time  to  send  for  advice.  I  would  be 
consulted.  I  would  gain  their  confidence  and  be- 
come their  family  attendant.  They  would  recom- 
mend me  to  their  wealthy  friends.  It  was  all  as 
clear  as  possible.  I  was  debating  before  I  reached 
home  whether  it  would  be  worth  my  while  to 
give  up  a  lucrative  country  practice  in  order 
to  take  the  Professorship  which  might  be  of- 
fered me. 

My  father  took  the  news  philosophically 
enough,  with  some  rather  sardonic  remark  about 
my  patient  and  me  being  well  qualified  to  keep 
each  other  company.  But  to  my  mother  it  was 
a  flash  of  joy,  followed  by  a  thunderclap  of  con- 
sternation. I  had  only  three  under-shirts,  the  best 
of  my  linen  had  gone  to  Belfast  to  be  refronted 
and  recuffed,  the  night-gowns  were  not  marked 
yet — there  were  a  dozen  of  those  domestic  diffi- 
culties of  which  the  mere    male  never  thinks.     A 


^^  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

dreadful  vision  of  Lady  Saltire  looking  over  my 
things  and  finding  the  heel  out  of  one  of  my 
socks  obsessed  my  mother.  Out  we  trudged  to- 
gether, and  before  evening  her  soul  was  at  rest, 
and  1  had  mortgaged  in  advance  my  first  month's 
salary.  She  was  great,  as  we  walked  home,  upon 
the  grand  people  into  whose  service  I  was  to  en- 
ter. *'  As  a  matter  of  fact,  my  dear,"  said  she, 
"■  they  are  in  a  sense  relations  of  yours.  You  are 
very  closely  allied  to  the  Percies,  and  the  Saltires 
have  Percy  blood  in  them  also.  They  are  only  a 
cadet  branch,  and  you  are  close  upon  the  main 
line ;  but  still  it  is  not  for  us  to  deny  the  con- 
nection." She  brought  a  cold  sweat  out  upon 
me  by  suggesting  that  she  should  make  things 
easy  by  writing  to  Lord  Saltire  and  explaining 
our  respective  positions.  Several  times  during  the 
evening  I  heard  her  murmur  complacently  that 
they  were  only  the  cadet  branch. 

Am  I  not  the  slowest  of  story-tellers?  But 
you  encourage  me  to  it  by  your  sympathetic  in- 
terest in  details.  However,  I  shall  move  along  a 
little  faster  now.  Next  morning  I  was  off  to 
Lochtully,  which,  as  you  know,  is  in  the  north  of 
Perthshire.     It  stands  three  miles  from  the  station. 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


77 


a  great  gray  pinnacled  house,  with  two  towers 
cocking  out  above  the  fir  woods,  like  a  hare's 
ears  from  a  tussock  of  grass.  As  we  drove  up 
to  the  door  I  felt  pretty  solemn — not  at  all  as  the 
main  line  should  do  when  it  condescends  to  visit 
the  cadet  branch.  Into  the  hall  as  I  entered  came 
a  grave  learned-looking  man,  with  whom  in  my 
nervousness  I  was  about  to  shake  hands  cordially. 
Fortunately  he  forestalled  the  impending  embrace 
by  explaining  that  he  was  the  butler.  He  showed 
me  into  a  small  study,  where  everything  stank  of 
varnish  and  morocco  leather,  there  to  await  the 
great  man.  He  proved  when  he  came  to  be  a 
much  less  formidable  figure  than  his  retainer— 
indeed,  I  felt  thoroughly  at  my  ease  with  him  from 
the  moment  he  opened  his  mouth.  He  is  griz- 
zled, red-faced,  sharp-featured,  with  a  prying  and 
yet  benevolent  expression,  very  human  and  just  a 
trifle  vulgar.  His  wife,  however,  to  whom  I  was 
afterwards  introduced,  is  a  most  depressing  per- 
son,— pale,  cold,  hatchet-faced,  with  drooping  eye- 
lids and  very  prominent  blue  veins  at  her  temples. 
She  froze  me  up  again  just  as  I  was  budding  out 
under  the  influence  of  her  husband.  However, 
the  thing    that    interested    me  most  of  all  was  to 


78  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

see  my  patient,  to  whose  room  I  was  taken  by 
Lord  Saltire  after  we  had  had  a  cup  of  tea. 

The  room  was  a  large  bare  one,  at  the  end  of 
a  long  corridor.  Near  the  door  was  seated  a 
footman,  placed  there  to  fill  up  the  gap  between 
two  doctors,  and  looking  considerably  relieved  at 
my  advent.  Over  by  the  window  (which  was 
furnished  with  a  wooden  guard,  like  that  of  a 
nursery)  sat  a  tall,  yellow-haired,  yellow-bearded, 
young  man,  who  raised  a  pair  of  startled  blue  eyes 
as  we  entered.  He  was  turning  over  the  pages  of 
a  bound  copy  of  the  Illustrated  London  News. 

"  James,"  said  Lord  Saltire,  *'  this  is  Dr.  Stark 
Munro,  who  has  come  to  look  after  you." 

My  patient  mumbled  something  in  his  beard, 
which  seemed  to  me  suspiciously  like  **  Damn  Dr. 
Stark  Munro  !  "  The  peer  evidently  thought  the 
same,  for  he  led  me  aside  by  the  elbow. 

*'  I  don't  know  whether  you  have  been  told  that 
James  is  a  little  rough  in  his  w^ays  at  present,"  said 
he  ;  ''  his  whole  nature  has  deteriorated  very  much 
since  this  calamity  came  upon  him.  You  must  not 
be  offended  by  anything  he  may  say  or  do." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  I. 

"  There  is  a  taint  of  this  sort  upon  my  wife's 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


79 


side,"  whispered  the  little  lord  ;  "  her  uncle's 
symptoms  were  identical.  Dr.  Peterson  says  that 
the  sunstroke  was  only  the  determining  cause. 
The  predisposition  was  already  there.  I  may  tell 
you  that  the  footman  will  always  be  in  the  next 
room,  so  that  you  can  call  him  if  you  need  his 
assistance." 

Well,  it  ended  by  lord  and  lacquey  moving 
off,  and  leaving  me  with  my  patient.  I  thought 
that  I  should  lose  no  time  in  establishing  a 
kindly  relation  with  him,  so  I  drew  a  chair 
over  to  his  sofa  and  began  to  ask  him  a  few 
questions  about  his  health  and  habits.  Not  a 
word  could  I  get  out  of  him  in  reply.  He  sat 
as  sullen  as  a  mule,  with  a  kind  of  sneer  about 
his  handsome  face,  which  showed  me  very  well 
that  he  had  heard  everything.  I  tried  this  and 
tried  that,  but  not  a  syllable  could  I  get  from 
him  ;  so  at  last  I  turned  from  him  and  began 
to  look  over  some  illustrated  papers  on  the 
table.  He  doesn't  read,  it  seems,  and  will  do 
nothing  but  look  at  pictures.  Well,  1  was  sit- 
ting like  this  with  my  back  half  turned,  when 
you  can  imagine  my  surprise  to  feel  something 
plucking    gently    at     me,    and     to     see     a    great 


8o  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

brown  hand  trying  to  slip  its  way  into  my  coat 
pocket.  I  caught  at  the  wrist  and  turned  swiftly 
round,  but  too  late  to  prevent  my  handkerchief 
being  whisked  out  and  concealed  behind  the 
Hon.  James  Derwent,  who  sat  grinning  at  me 
like  a  mischievous  monkey. 

"  Come,  I  may  want  that,"  said  I,  trying  to 
treat  the  matter  as  a  joke. 

He  used  some  language  which  was  more 
scriptural  than  religious.  I  saw  that  he  did  not 
mean  giving  it  up,  but  I  was  determined  not  to 
let  him  get  the  upper  hand  over  me.  I  grabbed 
for  the  handkerchief ;  and  he,  with  a  snarl, 
caught  my  hand  in  both  of  his.  He  had  a 
powerful  grip,  but  I  managed  to  get  his  wrist 
and  to  give  it  a  wrench  round,  until,  with  a 
howl,  he  dropped  my  property. 

"  What  fun,"  said  I,  pretending  to  laugh. 
*'  Let  us  try  again.  Now,  you  take  it  up,  and 
see  if  I  can  get  it  again." 

But  he  had  had  enough  of  that  game.  Yet 
he  appeared  to  be  better  humoured  than  before 
the  incident,  and  I  got  a  few  short  answers  to 
the  questions  which  I  put  to  him.  And  here 
comes   in   the    text   which    started    me    preaching 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  8l 

about  lunacy  at  the  beginning  of  this  letter. 
IV/iat  a  marvellous  thing  it  is  !  This  man,  from 
all  I  can  learn  of  him,  has  suddenly  swung  clean 
over  from  one  extreme  of  character  to  the 
other.  Every  plus  has  in  an  instant  become  a 
minus.  He's  another  man,  but  in  the  same 
case.  I  am  told  that  he  used  to  be  (only  a 
few  months  ago,  mind  you)  most  fastidious  in 
dress  and  speech.  Now  he  is  a  foul-tongued 
rough  !  He  had  a  nice  taste  in  literature. 
Now  he  stares  at  you  if  you  speak  of  Shakes- 
peare. Queerest  of  all,  he  used  to  be  a  very 
high-and-dry  Tory  in  his  opinions.  He  is  fond 
now  of  airing  the  most  democratic  views,  and 
in  a  needlessly  offensive  way.  When  I  did  get 
on  terms  with  him  at  last,  I  found  that  there 
was  nothing  on  which  he  could  be  drawn  on  to 
talk  so  soon  as  on  politics.  In  substance,  I  am 
bound  to  say  that  I  think  his  new  views  are 
probably  saner  than  his  old  ones,  but  the  in- 
sanity lies  in  his  sudden  reasonless  change  and 
in  his    violent    blurts  of   speech. 

It  was  some  weeks,  however,  before  I  gained 
his  confidence,  so  far  as  to  be  able  to  hold  a 
real  conversation  with    him.     For  a  long  time  he 


82  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

was  very  sullen  and  suspicious,  resenting  the 
constant  watch  which  I  kept  upon  him.  This 
could  not  be  relaxed,  for  he  was  full  of  the 
most  apish  tricks.  One  day  he  got  hold  of  my 
tobacco  pouch,  and  stuffed  two  ounces  of  my 
tobacco  into  the  long  barrel  of  an  Eastern  gun 
which  hangs  on  the  wall.  He  jammed  it  all 
down  with  the  ramrod,  and  I  was  never  able  to 
get  it  up  again.  Another  time  he  threw  an 
earthenware  spittoon  through  the  window,  and 
would  have  sent  the  clock  after  it  had  I  not 
prevented  him.  Every  day  I  took  him  for  a 
two  hours'  constitutional,  save  when  it  rained, 
and  then  we  walked  religiously  for  the  same 
space  up  and  down  the  room.  Heh  !  but  it  was 
a  deadly,  dreary,  kind  of  life. 

I  was  supposed  to  have  my  eye  upon  him  all 
day,  with  a  two-hour  interval  every  afternoon 
and  an  evening  to  myself  upon  Fridays.  But 
then  what  was  the  use  of  an  evening  to  myself 
when  there  was  no  town  near,  and  I  had  no 
friends  whom  I  could  visit  ?  I  did  a  fair 
amount  of  reading,  for  Lord  Saltire  let  me 
have  the  run  of  his  library.  Gibbon  gave  me  a 
couple    of     enchanting    weeks.       You    know    the 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


83 


effect  that  he  produces.  You  seem  to  be 
serenely  floating  upon  a  cloud,  and  looking 
down  on  all  these  pigmy  armies  and  navies, 
with  a  wise  Mentor  ever  at  your  side  to  whis- 
per to  you  the  inner  meaning  of  all  that  majestic 
panorama. 

Now  and  again  3^oung  Derwent  introduced 
some  excitement  into  my  dull  life.  On  one  oc- 
casion when  we  were  walkins^-  in  the  pfrounds, 
he  suddenly  snatched  up  a  spade  from  a  grass- 
plot,  and  rushed  at  an  inoffensive  under-gar- 
dener.  The  man  ran  screaming  for  his  life,  with 
my  patient  cursing  at  his  very  heels,  and  me 
within  a  few  paces  of  him.  When  I  at  last  laid 
my  hand  on  his  collar,  he  threw  down  his 
weapon  and  burst  into  shrieks  of  laughter.  It 
Avas  only  mischief  and  not  ferocity  ;  but  when 
that  under-gardener  saw  us  coming  after  that 
he  w^as  off  with  a  face  like  a  cream  cheese.  At 
night  the  attendant  slept  in  a  camp-bed  at  the 
foot  of  the  patient's,  and  my  room  was  next 
door,  so  that  I  could  be  called  if  necessary. 
No,  it  was  not  a  very  exhilarating  life ! 

We  used  to  go  down  to  family  meals  when 
there    were    no    visitors  ;    and    there    we    made    a 


84  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

curious  quartette :  Jimmy  (as  he  wished  me  to 
call  him)  glum  and  silent ;  I  with  the  tail  of  my 
eye  always  twisted  round  to  him  ;  Lady  Saltire 
with  her  condescending  eyelids  and  her  blue 
veins ;  and  the  good-natured  peer,  fussy  and 
genial,  but  always  rather  subdued  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  wife.  She  looked  as  if  a  glass  of 
good  wine  would  do  her  good,  and  he  as  if  he 
would  be  the  better  for  abstinence ;  and  so,  in 
accordance  with  the  usual  lop-sidedness  of  life, 
he  drank  freely,  and  she  took  nothing  but  lime- 
juice  and  water.  You  cannot  imagine  a  more 
ignorant,  intolerant,  narrow-minded  woman  than 
she.  If  she  had  only  been  content  to  be  silent 
and  hidden  that  small  brain  of  hers,  it  would  not 
have  mattered ;  but  there  was  no  end  to  her 
bitter  and  exasperating  clacking.  What  was  she 
after  all  but  a  thin  pipe  for  conveying  disease 
from  one  generation  to  another  ?  She  was 
bounded  by  insanity  upon  the  north  and  upon 
the  south.  I  resolutely  set  myself  to  avoid  all 
argument  with  her ;  but  she  knew%  with  her 
woman's  instinct,  that  we  were  as  far  apart  as 
the  poles,  and  took  a  pleasure  in  waving  the 
red    flag    before    me.      One   day  she    was  waxing 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  85 

eloquent  as  to  the  crime  of  a  minister  of  an 
Episcopal  church  performing  any  service  in  a 
Presbyterian  chapel.  Some  neighbouring  min- 
ister had  done  it,  it  seems  ;  and  if  he  had  been 
marked  down  in  a  pot  house  she  could  not  have 
spoken  with  greater  loathing.  I  suppose  that 
my  eyes  were  less  under  control  than  my 
tongue,  for  she  suddenly  turned  upon  me 
with  : 

"  I  see  that  you  don't  agree  with  me.  Dr. 
Munro." 

I  replied  quietly  that  I  did  not,  and  tried  to 
change  the  conversation  ;  but  she  was  not  to  be 
shaken  off. 

''Why  not,  may  I  ask?" 

I  explained  that  in  my  opinion  the  tendency 
of  the  age  was  to  break  down  those  ridiculous 
doctrinal  points  which  are  so  useless,  and  which 
have  for  so  long  set  people  by  the  ears.  I 
added  that  I  hoped  the  time  was  soon  coming 
when  good  men  of  all  creeds  would  throw  this 
lumber  overboard  and  join  hands  together. 

She  half  rose,  almost  speechless  with  indig- 
nation. 

"  I  presume,"  said   she,   "  that   you  are  one  of 


86  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

those  people  who  would  separate  the  Church 
from  the  State  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly,"  I  answered. 

She  stood  erect  in  a  kind  of  cold  fury,  and 
swept  out  of  the  room.  Jimmy  began  to 
chuckle,  and  his    father  looked    perplexed. 

"  I  am  sorr}^  that  my  opinions  are  offensive 
to  Lady  Saltire,"    I  remarked. 

''  Yes,  yes ;  it's  a  pity  ;  a  pity,"  said  he ; 
''well,  well,  we  must  say  what  we  think;  but 
it's  a  pity  you  think  it — a  very  great  pity." 

I  quite  expected  to  get  my  dismissal  over 
this  business,  and  indeed,  indirectly  I  may  say 
that  I  did  so.  From  that  day  Lady  Saltire  was 
as  rude  to  me  as  she  could  be,  and  never  lost 
an  opportunity  of  making  attacks  upon  what 
she  imagined  to  be  my  opinions.  Of  these  I 
never  took  the  slightest  notice  ;  but  at  last  on 
an  evil  day  she  went  for  me  point-blank,  so  that 
there  was  no  getting  away  from  her.  It  was 
just  at  the  end  of  lunch,  when  the  footman  had 
left  the  room.  She  had  been  talking  about 
Lord  Saltire's  going  up  to  London  to  vote  upon 
some  question  in  the  House  of    Lords. 

"  Perhaps,     Dr.     Munro,"     said     she,     turning 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  8/ 

acidly  upon  me,  "  that  is  also  an  institution 
which  has  not  been  fortunate  enough  to  win 
your  approval." 

"  It  is  a  question,  Lady  Saltire,  which  I 
should   much   prefer  not  to  discuss,"    I  answered. 

"  Oh,  you  might  just  as  well  have  the 
courage  of  your  convictions,"  said  she.  "  Since 
you  desire  to  despoil  the  National  Church,  it  is 
natural  enough  that  you  should  wish  also  to 
break  up  the  Constitution.  I  have  heard  that 
an  atheist  is  always  a  red  republican." 

Lord  Saltire  rose,  wishing,  I  have  no  doubt, 
to  put  an  end  to  the  conversation.  Jimmy  and 
I  rose  also  ;  and  suddenly  I  saw  that  instead 
of  moving  towards  the  door  he  was  going  to 
his  mother.  Knowing  his  little  tricks,  I  passed 
my  hand  under  his  arm,  and  tried  to  steer 
him  away.  She  noticed  it,  however,  and  in- 
terfered. 

**  Did   you   wish  to  speak  to  me,  James  ?  " 

"  I   want  to  whisper  in  your  ear,  mother." 

*'  Pray  don't  excite  yourself,  sir,"  said  I, 
again  attempting  to  detain  him.  Lady  Saltire 
arched  her  aristocratic  eyebrows. 

*'  I    think.    Dr.    Munro,    that    you    push    your 


88  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

authority  rather  far  when  you  venture  to  inter- 
fere between  a  mother  and  her  son,"  said  she. 
"What  was  it,  my  poor  dear  boy?" 

Jimmy  bent  down  and  whispered  something- 
in  her  ear.  The  blood  rushed  into  her  pale 
face,  and  she  sprang  from  him  as  if  he  had 
struck  her.     Jimmy  began  to  snigger. 

"  This  is  your  doing,  Dr.  Munro,"  she  cried 
furiously.  "  You  have  corrupted  my  son's  mind, 
and  encouraged  him  to  insult  his  mother." 

"  My  dear  !  My  dear  !  "  said  her  husband 
soothingly,  and  I  quietly  led  the  recalcitrant 
Jimmy  upstairs.  I  asked  him  what  it  was  that 
he  had  said  to  his  mother,  but  got  only  chuckles 
in  reply. 

I  had  a  presentiment  that  I  should  hear 
more  of  the  matter ;  and  I  was  not  wrong. 
Lord  Saltire  called  me  into  his  study  in  the 
evening. 

''  The  fact  is,  doctor,"  said  he,  "  that  Lady 
Saltire  has  been  extremely  annoyed  and  grieved 
about  what  occurred  at  lunch  to-day.  Of  course, 
you  can  imagine  that  such  an  expression  com- 
ing from  her  own  son,  shocked  her  more  than  I 
can  tell." 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


89 


''  I  assure  you,  Lord  Saltire,"  said  I,  ''  that  I 
have  no  idea  at  all  what  passed  between  Lady 
Saltire  and   my  patient." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  '*  without  going  into  details, 
I  may  say  that  what  he  whispered  was  a  blas- 
phemous wish,  most  coarsely  expressed,  as  to 
the  future  of  that  Upper  House  to  which  I  have 
the  honor  to  belong." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  I,  "  and  I  assure 
you  that  1  have  never  encouraged  him  in  his 
extreme  political  views,  which  seem  to  me  to  be 
symptoms  of  his  disease." 

"  I  am  quite  convinced  that  what  you  say  is 
true,"  he  answered  ;  '*  but  Lady  Saltire  is  un- 
happily of  the  opinion  that  you  have  instilled 
these  ideas  into  him.  You  know  that  it  is  a  lit- 
tle difficult  sometimes  to  reason  with  a  lady. 
However,  I  have  no  doubt  that  all  may  be 
smoothed  over  if  you  would  see  Lady  Saltire 
and  assure  her  that  she  has  misunderstood 
your  views  upon  this  point,  and  that  you  are 
personally  a  supporter  of  a  Hereditary  Cham- 
ber." 

Tt  put  me  in  a  tight  corner,  Bertie  ;  but  my 
mind    was    instantly    made    up.      From    the    first 


90 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


word  I  had  read  my  dismissal  in  every  uneasy 
glance  of  his  little  eyes. 

''  I  am  afraid,"  said  I,  "  that  that  is  rather 
further  than  I  am  prepared  to  go.  I  think 
that  since  there  has  been  for  some  weeks  a 
certain  friction  between  Lady  Saltire  and  my- 
self, it  would  perhaps  be  as  well  that  I  should 
resign  the  post  which  I  hold  in  your  house- 
hold. I  shall  be  happy,  however,  to  remain 
here  until  you  have  found  some  one  to  take 
over  my  duties." 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry  it  has  come  to  this,  and 
yet  it  may  be  that  you  are  right,"  said  he,  with 
an  expression  of  relief ;  "  as  to  James,  there 
need  be  no  difficulty  about  that,  for  Dr.  Patter- 
son could  come  in  to-morrow  morning." 

*'  Then  to-morrow  morning  let  it  be,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"Very  good,  Dr.  Munro  ;  I  will  see  that  you 
have  your  cheque  before  you  go." 

So  there  was  the  end  of  all  my  fine  dreams 
about  aristocratic  practices  and  wonderful  intro- 
ductions !  I  believe  the  only  person  in  the 
whole  house  who  regretted  me  was  Jimmy,  who 
was    quite    downcast    at    the    news.       His    grief, 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


91 


however,  did  not  prevent  him  from  brushing- 
my  new  top-hat  the  wrong  way  on  the  morning 
that  I  left.  I  did  not  notice  it  until  I  reached 
the  station,  and  a  most  undignified  object  I 
must  have    looked  when  I  took  my  departure. 

So  ends  the  history  of  a  failui-e.  I  am,  as 
you  know,  inclined  to  fatalism,  and  do  not  be- 
lieve that  such  a  thing  as  chance  exists ;  so  I 
am  bound  to  think  that  this  experience  was 
given  to  me  for  some  end.  It  was  a  preliminary 
canter  for  the  big  race,  perhaps.  My  mother 
was  disappointed,  but  tried  to  show  it  as  little 
as  possible.  My  father  was  a  little  sardonic  over 
the  matter.  I  fear  that  the  gap  between  us 
widens.  By  the  way,  an  extraordinary  card  ar- 
rived from  Cullingworth  during  my  absence. 
"  You  are  my  man,"  said  he  ;  "  mind  that  I  am 
to  have  you  when  I  want  you."  There  was  no 
date  and  no  address,  but  the  postmark  was 
Bradfield  in  the  north  of  England.  Does  it 
mean  nothing?  Or  may  it  mean  everything? 
We  must  wait  and  see. 

Good-bye,  old  man.  Let  me  hear  equally 
fully  about  3'our  own  affairs.  How  did  the  Rat- 
tray business  go  off? 


V. 

Merton  on  the  Moors,  j///  March,  1882. 

T  WAS  so  delighted,  my  dear  chap,  to  have  your 
assurance  that  nothing  that  I  have  said  or  could 
sav  upon  the  subject  of  religion  could  offend  you. 
It  is  difficult  to  tell  you  how  pleased  and  relieved 
I  was  at  your  cordial  letter.  I  have  no  one  to 
whom  I  can  talk  upon  such  matters.  I  am  all 
driven  inwards,  and  thought  turns  sour  when  one 
lets  it  stagnate  like  that.  It  is  a  grand  thing 
to  be  able  to  tell  it  all  to  a  sympathetic  listener — 
and  the  more  so  perhaps  when  he  looks  at  it  all 
from  another  standpoint.  It  steadies  and  sobers 
one. 

Those  whom  I  love  best  are  those  who  have 
least  sympathy  with  my  struggles.  They  talk 
about  having  faith,  as  if  it  could  be  done  by  an  act 
of  volition.  They  might  as  well  tell  me  to  have 
black  hair  instead  of  red.  I  might  simulate  it  per- 
haps by   refusing  to  use   my  reason  at  all  in  reli- 


THE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS.  03 

gious  matters.  But  I  will  never  be  traitor  to  the 
highest  thing  that  God  has  given  me.  I  will  use 
it.  It  is  more  moral  to  use  it  and  go  wrong,  than 
to  forego  it  and  be  right.  It  is  only  a  little  foot- 
rule,  and  I  have  to  measure  Mount  Everest  with 
it;  but  it's  all  I  have,  and  I'll  never  give  it  up 
while  there's  breath  between  my  lips. 

With  all  respect  to  you,  Bertie,  it  is  very  easy 
to  be  orthodox.  A  man  who  wanted  mental  peace 
and  material  advancement  in  this  world  would  cer- 
tainly choose  to  be  so.  As  Smiles  sa3^s — "  A  dead 
fish  can  float  with  the  stream,  but  it  takes  a  man  to 
swim  against  it."  What  could  be  more  noble  than 
the  start  and  the  starter  of  Christianity  ?  How 
beautiful  the  upward  struggle  of  an  idea,  like  some 
sweet  flower  blossoming  out  amongst  rubble  and 
cinders  !  But,  alas !  to  say  that  this  idea  was  a 
final  idea !  That  this  scheme  of  thought  was  above 
the  reason !  That  this  gentle  philosopher  was  that 
supreme  intelligence  to  which  we  cannot  even  im- 
agine a  personality  without  irreverence! — all  this 
will  come  to  rank  with  the  strangest  delusions  of 
mankind.  And  then  how  clouded  has  become 
that  fine  daybreak  of  Christianity  !  Its  representa- 
tives have  risen  from   the   manger  to  the  palace, 


g4  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

from  the  fishing  smack  to  the  House  of  Lords. 
Nor  is  that  other  old  potentate  in  the  Vatican, 
with  his  art  treasures,  his  guards,  and  his  cellars  of 
wine  in  a  more  logical  position.  They  are  all  good 
and  talented  men,  and  in  the  market  of  brains  are 
worth  perhaps  as  much  as  they  get.  But  how  can 
they  bring  themselves  to  pose  as  the  representa- 
tives of  a  creed,  which,  as  they  themselves  ex- 
pound it,  is  based  upon  humility,  poverty,  and  self- 
denial?  Not  one  of  them  who  would  not  quote 
with  approval  the  parable  of  the  Wedding  Guest. 
But  try  putting  one  of  them  out  of  their  due  pre- 
cedence at  the  next  Court  reception.  It  happened 
some  little  time  ago  with  a  Cardinal,  and  England 
rang  with  his  protests.  How  blind  not  to  see  how 
they  would  spring  at  one  leap  into  the  real  first 
place  if  they  would  but  resolutely  claim  the  last  as 
the  special  badge  of  their  master  ! 

What  can  we  know  ?  What  are  we  all  ?  Poor 
silly  half-brained  things  peering  out  at  the  infinite, 
with  the  aspirations  of  angels  and  the  instincts  of 
beasts.  But  surely  all  will  be  well  with  .us.  If 
not,  then  He  who  made  us  is  evil,  which  is  not 
to  be  thought.  Surely,  then,  all  must  go  very 
well  with  us  ! 


THE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS. 


95 


I  feel  ashamed  when  I  read  this  over.  My 
mind  fills  in  all  the  trains  of  thought  of  which 
you  have  the  rude  ends  peeping  out  from  this 
tangle.  Make  what  you  can  of  it,  dear  Bertie, 
and  believe  that  it  all  comes  from  my  innermost 
heart.  Above  all  may  I  be  kept  from  becoming  a 
partisan,  and  tempering  with  truth  in  order  to 
sustain  a  case.  Let  me  but  get  a  hand  on  her 
skirt,  and  she  may  drag  me  where  she  will,  if  she 
will  but  turn  her  face  from  time  to  time  that  I 
may  know  her. 

You'll  see  from  the  address  of  this  letter,  Ber- 
tie, that  I  have  left  Scotland  and  am  in  Yorkshire. 
I  have  been  here  three  months,  and  am  now  on 
the  eve  of  leaving  under  the  strangest  circum- 
stances and  with  the  queerest  prospects.  Good 
old  Cullingworth  has  turned  out  a  trump,  as  I 
always  knew  he  would.  But,  as  usual,  1  am  be- 
ginning at  the  wrong  end,  so  here  goes  to  give 
you  an  idea  of  what  has  been  happening. 

I  told  you  in  my  last  about  my  lunacy  adven- 
ture and  my  ignominious  return  from  LochtuUy 
Castle.  When  I  had  settled  for  the  flannel  vests 
which  my  mother  had  ordered  so  lavishly  I  had 
only  five  pounds  left  out  of   my  pay.     With  this, 


q6  the  stark  munro  letters. 

as  it  was  the  first  money  that  I  had  ever  earned 
im  my  life,  I  bought  her  a  gold  bangle,  so  behold 
me  reduced  at  once  to  my  usual  empty  pocketed 
condition.  Well,  it  was  something  just  to  feel 
that  I  had  earned  money.  It  gave  me  an  assurance 
that  I  might  again. 

I  had  not  been  at  home  more  than  a  few  days 
when  my  father  called  me  into  the  study  after 
breakfast  one  morning  and  spoke  very  seriously 
as  to  our  financial  position.  He  began  the  inter- 
view by  unbuttoning  his  waistcoat  and  asking  me 
to  listen  at  his  fifth  intercostal  space,  two  inches 
from  the  left  sternal  line.  I  did  so,  and  was 
shocked  to  hear  a  well-marked  mitral  regurgitant 
murmur. 

"  It  is  of  old  standing,"  said  he,  "  but  of  late  I 
have  had  a  puffiness  about  the  ankles  and  some 
renal  symptoms  which  show  me  that  it  is  begin- 
ning to  tell." 

I  tried  to  express  my  grief  and  sympathy,  but 
he  cut  me  short  with  some  asperity. 

**  The  point  is,"  said  he,  "  that  no  insurance 
oflfice  would  accept  my  life,  and  that  I  have  been 
unable,  owing  to  competition  and  increased  ex- 
penses, to  lay  anything  by.     If  I  die  soon  (which, 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  97 

between  ourselves,  is  by  no  means  improbable), 
I  must  leave  to  your  care  your  mother  and  the 
children.  My  practice  is  so  entirely  a  personal 
one  that  I  cannot  hope  to  be  able  to  hand  over 
to  you  enough  to  afford  a  living." 

I  thought  of  CuUingworth's  advice  about  go- 
ing where  you  are  least  known.  "  I  think,"  said 
I,  ''  that  my  chances  would  be  better  away  from 
here." 

''  Then  you  must  lose  no  time  in  establishing 
yourself,"  said  he.  "  Your  position  would  be  one 
of  great  responsibility  if  anything  were  to  happen 
to  me  just  now.  I  had  hoped  that  3^ou  had  found 
an  excellent  opening  with  the  Saltires ;  but  I  fear 
that  you  can  hardly  expect  to  get  on  in  the  world, 
my  boy,  if  you  insult  your  employer's  religious 
and  political  view  at  his  own  table." 

It  wasn't  a  time  to  argue,  so  I  said  nothing. 
My  father  took  a  copy  of  the  Lancet  out  of  his 
desk,  and  turned  up  an  advertisement  which  he 
had  marked  with  a  blue  pencil.  ''  Read  this  !  " 
said  he. 

I've  got  it  before  me  as  I  write.  It  runs  thus: 
'•  Qualified  Assistant.  Wanted  at  once  in  a  large 
country  and  colliery  practice.      Thorough  knowl- 


98 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


edge  of  obstetrics  and  dispensing  indispensable. 
Ride  and  drive.  ^70  a  year.  Apply  Dr.  Hor- 
ton,  Merton  on  the  Moors,  Yorkshire." 

"There  might  be  an  opening  there,"  said  he. 
"  I  know  Horton,  and  I  am  convinced  that  1  can 
get  you  the  appointment.  It  would  at  least  give 
you  the  opportunity  of  looking  round  and  seeing 
whether  there  was  any  vacancy  there.  How  do 
you  think  it  would  suit  you  ?  " 

Of  course  I  could  only  answer  that  I  was  will- 
ing to  turn    my  hand  to   anything.      But    that  in- 
terview has  left  a  mark  upon    me — a  heavy  ever- 
present  gloom  away  at  the  back  of  my  soul,  which 
I  am  conscious  of  even  when   the  cause  of  it  has 
for  a  moment  gone    out  of  my  thoughts.      I    had 
enough    to    make    a    man    serious    before,  when  I 
had  to  face  the  world  without  money  or  interest. 
But   now  to    think    of  the  mother   and  my  sisters 
and    little    Paul   all  leaning  upon  me  when  I  can-     • 
not  stand  myself — it  is  a  nightmare.     Could  there 
be  anything  more  dreadful    in    life    than    to    have     , 
those  whom  you  love  looking  to  you  for  help  and     | 
to  be  unable  to  give   it  ?      But    perhaps    it  won't     | 
come  to    that.      Perhaps  my  father  may  hold   his 

own  for  years.     Come  what  may,  I  am  bound  to    ' 

i 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  qq 

think  that  all  things  are  ordered  for  the  best ; 
though  when  the  good  is  a  furlong  off,  and  we 
with  our  beetle  eyes  can  only  see  three  inches,  it 
takes  some  confidence  in  general:  principles  to  pull 
us  through. 

Well,  it  was  all  fixed  up  ;  and  down  I  came 
to  Yorkshire.  I  wasn't  in  the  best  of  spirits 
when  I  started,  Bertie,  but  they  went  down  and 
down  as  I  neared  my  destination.  How  people 
can  dwell  in  such  places  passes  my  comprehen- 
sion. What  can  life  offer  them  to  make  up  for 
these  mutilations  of  the  face  of  Nature  ?  No 
woods,  little  grass,  spouting  chimneys,  slate- 
coloured  streams,  sloping  mounds  of  coke  and 
slag,  topped  by  the  great  wheels  and  pumps  of 
the  mines.  Cinder-strewn  paths,  black  as  though 
stained  by  the  weary  miners  who  toil  along 
them,  lead  through  the  tarnished  fields  to  the 
rows  of  smoke-stained  cottages.  How  can  any 
young  unmarried  man  accept  such  a  lot  while 
there's  an  empty  hammock  in  the  navy,  or  a 
berth  in  a  merchant  forecastle  ?  How  many 
shillings  a  week  is  the  breath  of  the  ocean 
worth  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  if  I  were  a  poor 
man — well,    upon    my    word,    that  **  if  "  is  rather 


lOo  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

funny  when  I  think  that  many  of  the  dwellers  in 
those  smoky  cottages  hav^e  twice  my  salary  with 
half  my  expenses. 

Well,  as  I  said,  my  spirits  sank  lower  and 
lower  until  they  got  down  into  the  bulb,  when 
on  looking  through  the  gathering  gloom  I  saw 
**  Merton  "  printed  on  the  lamps  of  a  dreary 
dismal  station.  I  got  out,  and  was  standing 
beside  my  trunk  and  my  hat-box,  waiting  for 
a  porter,  when  up  came  a  cheery-looking  fellow 
and  asked  me  whether  1  was  Dr.  Stark  Munro. 
*^  I'm  Horton,"  said  he  ;  and  shook  hands  cor- 
dially. 

In  that  melancholy  place  the  sight  of  him 
was  like  a  fire  on  a  frosty  night.  He  was  gaily 
dressed  in  the  first  place,  check  trousers,  white 
waistcoat,  a  flower  in  his  button  hole.  But  the 
look  of  the  man  was  very  much  to  my  heart. 
He  was  ruddy  cheeked  and  black  eyed,  with  a 
jolly  stout  figure  and  an  honest  genial  smile. 
I  felt  as  we  clinched  hands  in  the  foggy  grimy 
station  that  I  had  met  a  man  and  a  friend. 

His  carriage  was  waiting,  and  w^e  drove  out 
to  his  residence,  The  Myrtles,  where  I  was 
speedily    introduced   both    to    his   family   and    his 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETIERS.  XOI 

practice.  The  former  is  small,  and  the  latter 
enormous.  The  wife  is  dead  ;  but  her  mother, 
Mrs.  White,  keeps  house  for  him ;  and  there 
are  two  dear  little  girls,  about  five  and  seven. 
Then  there  is  an  unqualified  assistant,  a  young 
Irish  student,  who,  with  the  three  maids,  the 
coachman,  and  the  stable  boy,  make  up  the 
whole  establishment.  When  I  tell  you  that 
we  give  four  horses  quite  as  much  as  they  can 
do,  you  will  have  an  idea  of  the  ground  we 
cover. 

The  house,  a  large  square  brick  one,  stand- 
ing in  its  own  grounds,  is  built  on  a  small  hill 
in  an  oasis  of  green  fields.  Beyond  this,  how- 
ever, on  every  side  the  veil  of  smoke  hangs 
over  the  country,  with  the  mine  pumps  and 
the  chimneys  bristling  out  of  it.  It  would  be 
a  dreadful  place  for  an  idle  man  ;  but  we  are 
all  so  busy  that  we  have  hardly  time  to  think 
whether  there's  a  view  or  not. 

Day  and  night  we  are  at  work  ;  and  yet  the 
three  months  have  been  very  pleasant  ones  to 
look  back  upon. 

I'll  give  you  an  idea  of  what  a  day's  work  is 
like.      We     breakfast     about     nine     o'clock,    and 


102  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

immediately  afterwards  the  morning  patients 
begin  to  drop  in.  Many  of  them  are  very  poor 
people,  belonging  to  the  colliery  clubs,  the  prin- 
ciple of  which  is,  that  the  members  pay  a  little 
over  a  halfpenny  a  week  all  the  year  round, 
well  or  ill,  in  return  for  which  they  get  medi- 
cine and  attendance  free.  "  Not  much  of  a 
catch  for  the  doctors,"  you  would  say,  but  it  is 
astonishing  what  competition  there  is  among 
them  to  get  the  appointment.  You  see  it  is  a 
certainty  for  one  thing,  and  it  leads  indirectly  to 
other  little  extras.  Besides,  it  amounts  up  sur- 
prisingly. I  have  no  doubt  that  Horton  has 
five  or  six  hundred  a  year  from  his  clubs  alone. 
On  the  other  hand,  3'ou  can  imagine  that  club 
patients,  since  they  pay  the  same  in  any  case, 
don't  let  their  ailments  go  very  far  before  they 
are   round   in  the  consulting  room. 

Well,  then,  by  half-past  nine  we  are  in  full 
blast.  Horton  is  seeing  the  better  patients  in  the 
consulting  room,  I  am  interviewing  the  poorer 
ones  in  the  waiting  room,  and  McCarthy,  the 
Irishman,  making  up  prescriptions  as  hard  as 
he  can  tear.  By  the  club  rules,  patients  are 
bound    to    find     their    own     bottles     and     corks. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  IO3 

They  generally  remember  the  bottle,  but  always 
forget  the  cork.  "  Ye  must  pay  a  pinny  or  ilse 
put  your  forefinger  in,"  says  McCarthy.  They 
have  an  idea  that  all  the  strength  of  the  medi- 
cine goes  if  the  bottle  is  open,  so  they  trot  off 
with  their  fingers  stuck  in  the  necks.  They 
have  the  most  singular  notions  about  medicines. 
"  It's  that  strong  that  a  spoon  will  stand  oop 
in't !  "  is  one  man's  description.  Above  all,  they 
love  to  have  two  bottles,  one  with  a  solution  of 
citric  acid,  and  the  other  with  carbonate  of  soda. 
When  the  mixture  begins  to  fizz,  they  realise 
that  there  is  indeed   a  science  of  medicine. 

This  sort  of  work,  with  vaccinations,  band- 
agings,  and  minor  surgery,  takes  us  to  nearly 
eleven  o'clock,  when  we  assemble  in  Horton's 
room  to  make  out  the  list.  All  the  names  of 
patients  under  treatment  are  pinned  upon  a 
big  board.  We  sit  round  with  note  books  open, 
and  distribute  those  who  must  be  seen  between 
us.  By  the  time  this  is  done  and  the  horses  in, 
it  is  half-past  eleven.  Then  away  we  all  fly 
upon  our  several  tasks :  Horton  in  a  carriage 
and  pair  to  see  the  employers  ;  I  in  a  dog  cart 
to    see    the    employed ;    and     McCarthy    on     his 


I04 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


good  Irish  legs  to  see  those  chronic  cases  to 
which  a  qualified  man  can  do  no  good,  and  an 
unqualified  no  harm. 

Well,  we  all  work  back  again  by  two  o'clock, 
when  we  find  dinner  waiting  for  us.  We  may 
or  may  not  have  finished  our  rounds.  If  not 
away  we  go  again.  If  we  have,  Morton  dictates 
his  prescriptions,  and  strides  off  to  bed  with  his 
black  clay  pipe  in  his  mouth.  He  is  the  most 
abandoned  smoker  I  have  ever  met  with,  collect- 
ing the  dottles  of  his  pipes  in  the  evening,  and 
smoking  them  the  next  morning  before  breakfast 
in  the  stable  yard.  When  he  has  departed  for 
his  nap,  McCarthy  and  I  get  to  work  on  the 
medicine.  There  are,  perhaps,  fifty  bottles  to 
put  up,  with  pills,  ointment,  etc.  It  is  quite 
half-past  four  before  we  have  them  all  laid  out 
on  the  shelf  addressed  to  the  respective  invalids. 
Then  we  have  an  hour  or  so  of  quiet,  when  we 
smoke  or  read,  or  box  with  the  coachman  in  the 
harness  room.  After  tea  the  evening's  work 
commences.  From  six  to  nine  people  are  com- 
ing in  for  their  medicine,  or  fresh  patients 
wishing  advice.  When  these  are  settled  we 
have    to    see    again   any  very  grave  cases  which 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


05 


may  be  on  the  list ;  and  so,  about  ten  o'clock, 
we  may  hope  to  have  another  smoke,  and 
perhaps  a  game  of  cards.  Then  it  is  a  rare 
thing  for  a  night  to  pass  without  one  or  other 
of  us  having  to  trudge  off  to  a  case  which 
may  take  us  two  hours,  or  may  take  us  ten. 
Hard  work,  as  you  see  ;  but  Horton  is  such 
a  good  chap,  and  works  so  hard  himself,  that 
one  does  not  mind  what  one  does.  And  then 
we  are  all  like  brothers  in  the  house ;  our  talk 
is  just  a  rattle  of  chaff,  and  the  patients  are  as 
homely  as  ourselves,  so  that  the  work  becomes 
quite  a  pleasure  to  all  of  us. 

Yes,  Horton  is  a  real  right-down  good  fellow. 
His  heart  is  broad  and  kind  and  generous.  There 
is  nothing  petty  in  the  man.  He  loves  to  see 
those  around  him  happy ;  and  the  sight  of  his 
sturdy  figure  and  jolly  red  face  goes  far  to  make 
them  so.  Nature  meant  him  to  be  a  healer;  for 
he  brightens  up  a  sick  room  as  he  did  the  Mer- 
ton  station  when  first  I  set  eyes  upon  him.  Don't 
imagine  from  my  description  that  he  is  in  any  way 
soft,  however.  There  is  no  one  on  whom  one 
could  be  less  likely  to  impose.  He  has  a  temper 
which  is  easily  aflame  and  as  easily  appeased.     A 


I06  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

mistake  in  the  dispensing  may  wake  it  up ; 
and  then  he  bursts  into  the  surgery  like  a  whiff 
of  east  wind,  his  cheeks  red,  his  whiskers  bris- 
tling, and  his  eyes  malignant.  The  daybook  is 
banged,  the  bottles  rattled,  the  counter  thumped, 
and  then  he  is  off  again  with  five  doors  slamming 
behind  him.  We  can  trace  his  progress  when 
the  black  mood  is  on  him  by  those  dwindling 
slams.  Perhaps  it  is  that  McCarthy  has  labelled 
the  cough  mixture  as  the  eye-wash,  or  sent  an 
empty  pillbox  with  an  exhortation  to  take  one 
every  four  hours.  In  any  case  the  cyclone  comes 
and  goes,  and  by  the  next  meal  all  is  peace  once 
more. 

I  said  that  the  patients  were  very  homely. 
Any  one  who  is  over-starched  might  well  come 
here  to  be  unstiffened.  I  confess  that  I  did  not 
quite  fall  in  with  it  at  once.  When  on  one  of  my 
first  mornings  a  club  patient  with  his  bottle  under 
his  arm  came  up  to  me  and  asked  me  if  I  were 
the  doctor's  man,  I  sent  him  on  to  see  the 
groom  in  the  stable.  But  soon  one  falls  into  the 
humour  of  it.  There  is  no  offence  meant ;  and 
why  should  any  be  taken  ?  They  are  kindly,  gen- 
erous   folk ;    and    if    they  pay  no    respect  to  your 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


107 


profession  in  the  abstract,  and  so  rather  hurt 
your  dignity,  they  will  be  as  leal  and  true  as  pos- 
sible to  yourself  if  you  can  win  their  respect.  I 
like  the  grip  of  their  greasy  and  blackened  hands. 
Another  peculiarity  of  the  district  is  that  many 
of  the  manufacturers  and  colliery  owners  have 
risen  from  the  workmen,  and  have  (in  some  cases 
at  least)  retained  their  old  manners  and  even  their 
old  dress.  The  other  day  Mrs.  White,  Horton's 
mother-in-law,  had  a  violent  sick  headache,  and, 
as  we  are  all  very  fond  of  the  kind  old  lady,  we 
were  trying  to  keep  things  as  quiet  as  possible 
down-stairs.  Suddenly  there  came  a  bang!  bang! 
bang !  at  the  knocker ;  and  then  in  an  instant  an- 
other rattling  series  of  knocks,  as  if  a  tethered 
donkey  were  trying  to  kick  in  the  panel.  After 
all  our  efforts  for  silence  it  was  exasperating.  I 
rushed  to  the  door  to  find  a  seedy  looking  per- 
son just  raising  his  hand  to  commence  a  fresh 
bombardment.  "What  on  earth's  the  matter?"  I 
asked,  only  I  may  have  been  a  little  more  em- 
phatic. "Pain  in  the  jaw,"  said  he.  "You 
needn't  make  such  a  noise,"  said  I  ;  "  other  peo- 
ple are  ill  besides  you."  "  If  I  pay  my  money, 
young  man,  I'll  make  such  noise  as  I  like."     And 


I08  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS, 

actually  in  cold  blood  he  commenced  a  fresh 
assault  upon  the  door.  He  would  have  gone  on 
with  his  devil's  tattoo  all  morning  if  I  had  not 
led  him  down  the  path  and  seen  him  off  the 
premises.  An  hour  afterwards  Horton  whirled 
into  the  surgery,  with  a  trail  of  banged  doors 
behind  him.  "  What's  this  about  Mr.  Usher, 
Munro?"  he  asked.  "He  says  that  you  were 
violent  towards  him."  *'  There  was  a  club  patient 
here  who  kept  on  banging  the  knocker,"  said  I  ; 
''  I  was  afraid  that  he  would  disturb  Mrs.  White, 
and  so  I  made  him  stop."  Horton's  eyes  began 
to  twinkle.  *'  My  boy,"  said  he,  "  that  club  pa- 
tient, as  you  call  him,  is  the  richest  man  in  Merton, 
and  worth  a  hundred  a  year  to  me."  I  have  no 
doubt  that  he  appeased  him  by  some  tale  of  my 
disgrace  and  degradation ;  but  I  have  not  heard 
anything  of  the  matter  since. 

It  has  been  good  for  me  to  be  here,  Bertie. 
It  has  brought  me  in  close  contact  with  the  work- 
ing classes,  and  made  me  realise  what  fine  people 
they  are.  Because  one  drunkard  goes  home  howl- 
ing on  a  Saturday  night,  we  are  too  apt  to  over- 
look the  ninety-nine  decent  folk  by  their  own 
firesides.     I  shall  not  make  that  mistake  any  more. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


109 


The  kindliness  of  the  poor  to  the  poor  makes  a 
man  sick  of  himself.  And  their  sweet  patience  ! 
Depend  upon  it,  if  ever  there  is  a  popular  rising, 
the  wrongs  which  lead  to  it  must  be  monstrous 
and  indefensible.  I  think  the  excesses  of  the 
French  Revolution  are  dreadful  enough  in  them- 
selves, but  much  more  so  as  an  index  to  the  slow 
centuries  of  misery  against  which  they  were  a 
mad  protest.  And  then  the  wisdom  of  the  poor! 
It  is  amusing  to  read  the  glib  newspaper  man  writ- 
ing about  the  ignorance  of  the  masses.  They 
don't  know  the  date  of  Magna  Charta,  or  whom 
John  of  Gaunt  married ;  but  put  a  practical  up-to- 
date  problem  before  them,  and  see  how  unerringly 
they  take  the  right  side.  Didn't  they  put  the  Re- 
form Bill  through  in  the  teeth  of  the  opposition  of 
the  majority  of  the  so-called  educated  classes? 
Didn't  they  back  the  North  against  the  South  when 
nearly  all  our  leaders  went  wrong?  When  univer- 
sal arbitration  and  the  suppression  of  the  liquor 
traffic  comes,  is  it  not  sure  to  be  from  the  pressure 
of  these  humble  folks?  They  look  at  life  with 
clearer  and  more  unselfish  eyes.  It's  an  axiom,  I 
think,  that  to  heighten  a  nation's  wisdom  you  must 
lower  its  franchise. 


no  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

I  often  have  my  doubts,  Bertie,  if  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  the  existence  of  evil  ?  If  we  could  hon- 
estly convince  ourselves  that  there  was  not,  it 
would  help  us  so  much  in  formulating  a  rational 
religion.  But  don't  let  us  strain  truth  even  for 
such  an  object  as  that.  I  must  confess  that  there 
are  some  forms  of  vice,  cruelty  for  example,  for 
which  it  is  hard  to  find  any  explanation,  save  in- 
deed that  it  is  a  degenerate  survival  of  that  war- 
like ferocity  which  may  once  have  been  of  service 
in  helping  to  protect  the  community.  No;  let  me 
be  frank,  and  say  that  I  can't  make  cruelty  fit  into 
my  scheme.  But  when  you  find  that  other  evils, 
which  seem  at  first  sight  black  enough,  really  tend 
in  the  long  run  to  the  good  of  mankind,  it  may  be 
hoped  that  those  which  continue  to  puzzle  us  may 
at  last  be  found  to  serve  the  same  end  in  some 
fashion  which  is  now  inexplicable. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  study  of  life  by  the 
physician  vindicates  the  moral  principles  of 
right  and  wrong.  But  when  you  look  closely 
it  is  a  question  whether  that  which  is  a  wrong 
to  the  present  community  may  not  prove  to 
have  been  a  right  to  the  interests  of  posterity. 
That  sounds  a  little  foggy  ;   but  I  will  make  my 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  m 

meaning  more  clear  when  I  say  that  I  think 
right  and  wrong  are  both  tools  which  are  being 
wielded  by  those  great  hands  which  are  shaping 
the  destinies  of  the  universe,  that  both  are  mak- 
ing for  improvement ;  but  that  the  action  of  the 
one  is  immediate,  and  that  of  the  other  more 
slow,  but  none  the  less  certain.  Our  own  dis- 
tinction of  right  and  wrong  is  founded  too  much 
upon  the  immediate  convenience  of  the  com- 
munity, and  does  not  inquire  sufficiently  deeply 
into  the  ultimate  effect. 

I  have  my  own  views  about  Nature's  meth- 
ods, though  I  feel  that  it  is  rather  like  a  beetle 
giving  his  opinions  upon  the  milky  way.  How- 
ever, they  have  the  merit  of  being  consoling ; 
for  if  we  could  conscientiously  see  that  sin 
served  a  purpose,  and  a  good  one,  it  would 
take  some  of  the  blackness  out  of  life.  It  seems 
to  me,  then,  that  Nature,  still  working  on  the 
lines  of  evolution,  strengthens  the  race  in  two 
ways.  The  one  is  by  improving  those  who  are 
morally  strong,  which  is  done  by  increased 
knowledge  and  broadening  religious  views ;  the 
other,  and  hardly  less  important,  is  by  the  kill- 
ing off  and    extinction   of  those  who  are  morally 


112  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

weak.  This  is  accomplished  by  drink  and  im- 
morality. These  are  really  two  of  the  most 
important  forces  which  work  for  the  ultimate 
perfection  of  the  race.  I  picture  them  as  two 
great  invisible  hands  hovering  over  the  garden 
of  life  and  plucking  up  the  weeds.  Looked  at 
in  one's  own  day,  one  can  only  see  that  they 
produce  degradation  and  misery.  But  at  the 
end  of  a  third  generation  from  then,  what  has 
happened  ?  The  line  of  the  drunkard  and  of  the 
debauchee,  physically  as  well  as  morally  weak- 
ened, is  either  extinct  or  on  the  way  towards  it. 
Struma,  tubercle,  nervous  disease,  have  all  lent  a 
hand  towards  the  pruning  off  of  that  rotten 
branch,  and  the  average  of  the  race  is  thereby 
improved.  I  believe  from  the  little  that  I  have 
seen  of  life,  that  it  is  a  law  which  acts  with 
startling  swiftness,  that  a  majority  of  drunkards 
never  perpetuate  theii  species  at  all,  and  that 
when  the  curse  is  hereditary,  the  second  genera- 
tion generally  sees  the  end  of  it. 

Don't  misunderstand  me,  and  quote  me  as 
saying  that  it  is  a  good  thing  for  a  nation  that 
it  should  have  many  drunkards.  Nothing  of 
the  kind.     What    I    say    is,    that    if  a    nation    has 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


113 


many  morally  weak  people,  then  it  is  good  that 
there  should  be  a  means  for  checking-  those 
weaker  strains.  Nature  has  her  devices,  and 
drink  is  among  them.  When  there  are  no  more 
drunkards  and  reprobates,  it  means  that  the  race 
is  so  advanced  that  it  no  longer  needs  such 
rough  treatment.  Then  the  all-wise  Engineer 
will  speed  us  along  in  some  other  fashion. 

I've  been  thinking  a  good  deal  lately  about 
this  question  of  the  uses  of  evil,  and  of  how 
powerful  a  tool  it  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Creator. 
Last  night  the  whole  thing  crystallised  out  quite 
suddenly  into  a  small  set  of  verses.  Please  jump 
them  if  they  bore  you. 

WITH    EITHER    HAND. 

I. 

God's  own  best  will  bide  the  test, 

And  God's  owm  worst  will  fall ; 
But,  best  or  worst  or  last  or  first, 

He  ordereth  it  all. 

2. 

For  all  is  good,  if  understood, 

(Ah,  could  we  understand  !) 
And  right  and  ill  are  tools  of  skill 

Held  in  His  either  hand. 


114  ^^^^   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

The  harlot  and  the  anchorite, 
The  martyr  and  the  rake, 

Deftly  He  fashions  each  aright, 
Its  vital  part  to  take. 


4. 
Wisdom  He  makes  to  guide  the  sap 

Where  the  high  blossoms  be; 
And  Lust  to  kill  the  weaker  branch, 

And  Drink  to  trim  the  tree. 


5- 
And  Holiness  that  so  the  bole 

Be  solid  at  the  core; 
And  Plague  and  Fever,  that  the  whole 

Be  changing  evermore. 

6. 

He  strews  the  microbes  in  the  lung. 
The  blood-clot  in  the  brain  ; 

With  test  and  test  He  picks  the  best, 
Then  tests  them  once  again. 


7. 

He  tests  the  body  and  the  mind. 
He  rings  them  o'er  and  o'er  ; 

And  if  they  crack,  He  throws  them  back, 
And  fashions  them  once  more. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

8. 

He  chokes  the  infant  throat  with  sHme, 

He  sets  the  ferment  free  ; 
He  builds  the  tiny  tube  of  lime 

That  blocks  the  artery. 

9- 

He  lets  the  youthful  dreamer  store 

Great  projects  in  his  brain, 
Until  he  drops  the  fungus  spore 

That  smears  them  out  again. 

lO. 

He  stores  the  milk  that  feeds  the  babe, 
He  dulls  the  tortured  nerve; 

He  gives  a  hundred  joys  of  sense 
Where  few  or  none  might  serve. 

II. 

And  still  he  trains  the  branch  of  good 
Where  the  high  blossoms  be, 

And  wieldeth  still  the  shears  of  ill 
To  prune  and  prune  His  tree. 


12. 

So  read  I  this — and  as  I  try 
To  write  it  clear  again, 

I  feel  a  second  finger  lie 
Above  mine  on  the  pen. 


Il6  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

13- 

Dim  are  these  peering  eyes  of  mine, 

And  dark  what  I  have  seen. 
But  be  I  wrong,  the  wrong  is  Thine, 

Else  had  it  never  been. 

I  am  quite  ashamed  of  having  been  so  di- 
dactic. But  it  is  line  to  think  that  sin  may  have 
an  object  and  work  towards  good.  My  father 
says  that  I  seem  to  look  upon  the  universe  as  if 
it  were  my  property,  and  can't  be  happy  until 
I  know  that  all  is  right  with  it.  Well,  it 
does  send  a  glow  through  me  when  I  seem 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  light  behind  the 
clouds. 

And  now  for  my  big  bit  of  news  which  is 
going  to  change  my  whole  life.  Whom  do  you 
think  I  had  a  letter  from  last  Tuesday  week? 
From  CuUingworth,  no  less.  It  had  no  begin- 
ning, no  end,  was  addressed  all  wrong,  and 
written  with  a  very  thick  quill  pen  upon  the 
back  of  a  prescription.  How  it  ever  reached  me 
is  a  wonder.     This  is  what  he  had  to  say  : — 

"  Started  here  in  Bradfield  last  June.  Co- 
lossal success.  My  example  must  revolution- 
ise   medical    practice.      Rapidly    making    fortune- 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  ny 

Have  invention  which  is  worth  millions.  Unless 
our  Admiralty  take  it  up  shall  make  Brazil  the 
leading-  naval  power.  Come  down  by  next  train 
on  receiving  this.  Have  plenty  for  you  to 
do." 

That  w^as  the  whole  of  this  extraordinary 
letter ;  it  had  no  name  to  it,  which  was  cer- 
tainly reasonable  enough,  since  no  one  else  could 
have  written  it.  Knowing  Cullingworth  as  well 
as  I  did,  I  took  it  with  reservations  and  deduc- 
tions. How  could  he  have  made  so  rapid  and 
complete  a  success  in  a  town  in  which  he  must 
have  been  a  complete  stranger  ?  It  was  incredi- 
ble. And  yet  there  must  be  some  truth  in  it,  or 
he  would  not  invite  me  to  come  down  and  test 
it.  On  the  whole,  I  thought  that  I  had  better 
move  very  cautiously  in  the  matter ;  for  I  was 
happy  and  snug  where  I  was,  and  kept  on  put- 
ting a  little  by,  which  I  hoped  would  form  a 
nucleus  to  start  me  in  practice.  It  is  only  a  few 
pounds  up  to  date,  but  in  a  year  or  so  it  might 
mount  to  something.  I  wrote  to  Cullingworth, 
therefore,  thanking  him  for  having  remembered 
me,  and  explaining  how  matters  stood.  I  had 
had  great  difficulty  in  finding  an  opening,  I  said, 


Il8  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

and  now  that  I  had  one  I  was  loth  to  give  it  up 
save  for  a  permanency. 

Ten  days  passed,  during  which  Cullingworth 
was  silent.     Then  came  a  huge  telegram. 

"  Your  letter  to  hand.  Why  not  call  me  a  liar 
at  once  ?  I  tell  you  that  I  have  seen  thirty  thou- 
sand patients  in  the  last  year.  My  actual  takings 
have  been  over  four  thousand  pounds.  All  pa- 
tients come  to  me.  Would  not  cross  the  street  to 
see  Queen  Victoria.  You  can  have  all  visiting,  all 
surger}',  all  midwifer3^  Make  what  you  like  of  it. 
Will  guarantee  three  hundred  pounds  the  first 
year." 

Well,  this  began  to  look  more  like  business — 
especially  that  last  sentence.  I  took  it  to  Horton, 
and  asked  his  advice.  His  opinion  was  that  I  had 
nothing  to  lose  and  everything  to  gain.  So  it 
ended  by  my  wiring  back  accepting  the  partner- 
ship— if  it  is  a  partnership — and  to-morrow  morn- 
ing I  am  off  to  Bradfield  with  great  hopes  and  a 
small  portmanteau.  I  know  how  interested  you 
are  in  the  personality  of  Cullingworth — as  every 
one  is  who  comes,  even  at  second  hand,  within 
range  of  his  influence  ;  and  so  you  may  rely  upon 
it  that  I  shall  give  you  a  very  full  and  particular 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  1 1^ 

account  of  all  that  passes  between  us.  I  am  look- 
ing- forward  immensely  to  seeing  him  again,  and  I 
trust  we  won't  have  any  rows. 

Goodbye,    old    chap.      My    foot    is    upon    the 
threshold  of  fortune.     Congratulate  me. 


VL 

I  The  Parade,  Bradfield,  y/^  March,  1882. 
It  is  only  two  days  since  I  wrote  to  you,  my 
dear  old  chap,  and  yet  I  find  myself  loaded 
to  the  muzzle  and  at  full  cock  again.  I  have 
come  to  Bradfield.  I  have  seen  old  Culling- 
worth  once  more,  and  I  have  found  that  all  he  has 
told  me  is  true.  Yes;  incredible  as  it  sounded, 
this  wonderful  fellow  seems  to  have  actually 
built  up  a  great  practice  in  little  more  than  a 
year.  He  really  is,  w^ith  all  his  eccentricities,  a 
very  remarkable  man,  Bertie.  He  doesn't  seem  to 
have  a  chance  of  showing  his  true  powers  in  this 
matured  civilisation.  The  law  and  custom  hamper 
him.  He  is  the  sort  of  fellow  who  would  come 
right  to  the  front  in  a  French  Revolution.  Or  if 
you  put  him  as  Emperor  over  some  of  these  little 
South  American  States,  I  believe  that  in  ten  years 
he  would  either  be  in  his  grave,  or  would  have  the 

Continent.     Yes  ;  Cullingw^orth  is  fit  to  fight  for  a 

lao 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  I2i 

higher  stake  than  a  medical  practice,  and  on  a 
bigger  stage  than  an  English  provincial  town. 
When  I  read  of  Aaron  Burr  in  your  history  I 
always  picture  him  as  a  man  like  C. 

I  had  the  kindest  of  leave  takings  from  Hor- 
ton.  If  he  had  been  my  brother  he  could  not 
have  been  more  affectionate.  I  could  not  have 
thought  that  I  should  grow  so  fond  of  a  man 
in  so  short  a  time.  He  takes  the  keenest  interest 
in  my  venture,  and  I  am  to  write  him  a  full 
account.  He  gave  me  as  we  parted  a  black  old 
meerschaum  which  he  had  coloured  himself — the 
last  possible  pledge  of  affection  from  a  smoker.  It 
was  pleasant  for  me  to  feel  that  if  all  went 
wrong  at  Bradfield,  I  had  a  little  harbour  at  Mer- 
ton  for  which  I  could  make.  Still,  of  course, 
pleasant  and  instructive  as  the  life  there  was,  I 
could  not  shut  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  it  would 
take  a  terribly  long  time  before  I  could  save 
enough  to  buy  a  share  in  a  practice — a  longer  time 
probably  than  my  poor  father's  strength  would 
last.  That  telegram  of  Cullingworth's  in  which,  as 
you  may  remember,  he  guaranteed  me  three  hun- 
dred pounds  in  the  first  year,  gave  me  hopes  of  a 
much   more  rapid    career.      You   will   agree   with 


122 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


me,  I  am  sure,  that  I  did  wisely  to  go  to 
him. 

I  had  an  adventure  upon  the  way  to  Bradfield. 
The  carriage  in  which  I  was  travelling  contained  a 
party  of  three,  at  whom  I  took  the  most  casual  of 
glances  before  settling  down  to  the  daily  paper. 
There  was  an  elderly  lady,  with  a  bright  rosy  face, 
gold  spectacles,  and  a  dash  of  red  velvet  in  her 
bonnet.  With  her  were  two  younger  people,  who 
I  took  to  be  her  son  and  her  daughter — the  one  a 
quiet,  gentle-looking  girl  of  twenty  or  so,  dressed 
in  black,  and  the  other  a  short,  thick-set  young  fel- 
low, a  year  or  two  older.  The  two  ladies  sat  by 
each  other  in  the  far  corner,  and  the  son  (as  I  pre- 
sume him  to  be)  sat  opposite  me.  We  may  have 
travelled  an  hour  or  more  without  my  paying  any 
attention  to  this  little  family  party,  save  that  1 
could  not  help  hearing  some  talk  between  the  two 
ladies.  The  younger,  who  was  addressed  as  Win- 
nie, had,  as  I  noticed,  a  very  sweet  and  soothing 
voice.  She  called  the  elder  ''  mother,"  w^hich 
showed  that  I  was  right  as  to  the  relationship. 

I  was  sitting,  then,  still  reading  my  paper, 
w^hen  I  was  surprised  to  get  a  kick  on  the  shins 
from    the   young    fellow    opposite.      1    moved    my 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


123 


legs,  thinking  that  it  was  an  accident,  but  an  instant 
afterwards  I  received  another  and  a  harder  one.  I 
dropped  my  paper  with  a  growl,  but  the  moment 
that  I  glanced  at  him  I  saw  how  the  matter  stood. 
His  foot  was  jerking  spasmodically,  his  two  hands 
clenched,  and  drumming  against  his  breast,  while 
his  eyes  were  rolling  upwards  until  only  the  rim  of 
his  iris  w^as  to  be  seen.  I  sprang  upon  him,  tore 
open  his  collar,  unbuttoned  his  waistcoat,  and 
pulled  his  head  down  upon  the  seat.  Crash  went 
one  of  his  heels  through  the  carriage  window,  but 
I  contrived  to  sit  upon  his  knees  while  I  kept  hold 
of  his  two  wrists. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed  !  "  I  cried  ;  ''  it's  epilepsy, 
and  will  soon  pass !  " 

Glancing  up,  I  saw  that  the  little  girl  was  sit- 
ting very  pale  and  quiet  in  the  corner.  The 
mother  had  pulled  a  bottle  out  of  her  bag  and  was 
quite  cool  and  helpful. 

''  He  often  has  them,"  said  she  ;  "  this  is  bro- 
mide." 

"He  is  coming  out,"  I  answered;  ''you  look 
after  Winnie." 

I  blurted  it  out  because  her  head  seemed  to 
rock  as  if  she  were  going  off ;  but  the  absurdity  of 


124         .         THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

the  thing-  struck  us  all  next  moment,  and  the 
mother  burst  into  a  laugh  in  which  the  daughter 
and  1  joined.  The  son  had  opened  his  e3^es  and 
had  ceased  to  struggle. 

''  I  must  really  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I,  as 
I  helped  him  up  again.  "  I  had  not  the  advan- 
tage of  knowing  your  other  name,  and  I  was  in 
such  a  hurry  that  I  had  no  time  to  think  what  I 
was  saying." 

They  laughed  again  in  the  most  good- 
humoured  way,  and,  as  soon  as  the  young  fellow 
had  recovered,  we  all  joined  in  quite  a  confiden- 
tial conversation.  It  is  wonderful  how  the  intru- 
sion of  any  of  the  realities  of  life  brushes  away 
the  cobwebs  of  etiquette.  In  half  an  hour  we 
knew  all  about  each  other,  or  at  any  rate  I  knew 
all  about  them.  Mrs.  La  Force  was  the  mother's 
name,  a  widow  with  these  two  children.  They 
had  given  up  housekeeping,  and  found  it  more 
pleasant  to  live  in  apartments,  travelling  from 
one  watering  place  to  another.  Their  one  trouble 
was  the  nervous  weakness  of  the  son  Fred.  They 
were  now  on  their  way  to  Birchespool,  where 
they  hoped  that  he  might  get  some  good  from 
the  bracing  air.     I  was  able  to  recommend  vege- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


5 


tarianism,  which  I  have  found  to  act  like  a  charm 
in  such  cases.  We  had  quite  a  spii^ited  conver- 
sation, and  I  think  that  we  were  sorry  on  both 
sides  when  we  came  to  the  Junction  where  they 
had  to  change.  Mrs.  La  Force  gave  me  her  card, 
and  I  promised  to  call  if  ever  I  should  be  in 
Birchespool. 

However,  all  this  must  be  stupid  enough  to 
you.  You  know  my  little  ways  by  this  time,  and 
you  don't  expect  me  to  keep  on  the  main  line  of 
my  story.  However,  I  am  back  on  the  rails  now, 
and  I  shall  try  to  remain  there. 

Well,  it  was  nearly  six  o'clock,  and  evening 
was  just  creeping  in  when  we  drew  up  in  Brad- 
field  Station.  The  first  thing  I  saw  when  I 
looked  out  of  the  window  was  Cullingvvorth, 
exactly  the  same  as  ever,  striding  in  his  jerky 
way  down  the  platform,  his  coat  flying  open,  his 
chin  thrust  forward  (he  is  the  most  under-hung 
man  I  have  ever  seen),  and  his  great  teeth  all 
gleaming,  like  a  good-natured  blood-hound.  He 
roared  with  delight  when  he  saw  me,  wrung  my 
hand,  and  slapped  me  enthusiastically  upon  the 
shoulder. 

"  My  dear  chap  !  "    said  he.     **  We'll  clear  this 


126  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

town  out.  I  tell  you,  Munro,  we  won't  leave  a 
doctor  in  it.  It's  all  they  can  do  now  to  get 
butter  to  their  bread ;  and  when  we  get  to 
work  together  they'll  have  to  eat  it  dry.  Listen 
to  me,  my  boy !  There  are  a  hundred  and 
twenty  thousand  folk  in  this  town,  all  shrieking 
for  advice,  and  there  isn't  a  doctor  who  knows 
a  rhubarb  pill  from  a  calculus.  Man,  we  only 
have  to  gather  them  in.  I  stand  and  take  the 
money   until  my  arm  aches." 

"But  how  is  it?"  I  asked,  as  we  pushed  our 
way  through  the  crowd.  "  Are  there  so  few 
other  doctors  ?  " 

"Few!"  he  roared.  "By  Crums,  the  streets 
are  blocked  with  them.  You  couldn't  fall  out  of 
a  window  in   this   town  without    killing  a  doctor. 

But    of    all    the well,    there,    you'll    see    them 

for  yourself.  You  walked  to  my  house  at  Avon- 
mouth,  Munro.  I  don't  let  my  friends  walk  to 
my  house  at   Bradfield — eh,   what?" 

A  well-appointed  carriage  with  two  fine  black 
horses  was  drawn  up  at  the  station  entrance. 
The  smart  coachman  touched  his  hat  as  Culling- 
worth  opened  the  door. 

"  Which  of  the  houses,  sir  ?  "    he  asked. 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


127 


CuUingworth's  eyes  shot  round  to  me  to  see 
what  1  thought  of  such  a  query.  Between  our- 
selves I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  he 
had  instructed  the  man  to  ask  it.  He  always  had 
a  fine  eye  for  effect,  but  he  usually  erred  by 
underrating  the  intelligence  of  those  around 
him. 

*'  Ah  !  "  said  he,  rubbing  his  chin  like  a  man 
in  doubt.  '*  Well,  I  daresay  dinner  will  be 
nearly  ready.     Drive  to  the  town  residential." 

'*  Good  gracious,  CuUingworth  !  "  said  I  as 
we  started.  ''  How  many  houses  do  you  in- 
habit ?  It  sounds  as  if  you  had  bought  the 
town." 

''  Well,  well,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  we  are 
driving  to  the  house  where  I  usually  live.  It 
suits  us  very  well,  though  I  have  not  been  able 
to  get  all  the  rooms  furnished  yet.  Then  I 
have  a  little  farm  of  a  few  hundred  acres  just 
outside  the  city.  It  is  a  pleasant  place  for  the 
week  ends,  and  we  send  the  nurse  and  the 
child " 

"  My  dear  chap,  I  did  not  know  that  you 
had  started  a  family  !  " 

"  Yes,  it's  an    infernal    nuisance  ;    but   still   the 


128  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

fact  remains.  We  get  our  butter  and  things 
from  the  farm.  Then,  of  course,  I  have  my 
house  of    business  in  the  heart  of  the  city." 

''  Consulting  and  waiting  room,   I  suppose  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  sort  of  half  vexed, 
half  amused  expression.  ''  You  cannot  rise  to  a 
situation,  Munro,"  said  he.  ''  I  never  met  a  fel- 
low with  such  a  stodgy  imagination.  I'd  trust 
you  to  describe  a  thing  when  you  have  seen 
it,  but  never  to  build  up  an  idea  of  it  before- 
hand." 

"  What's  the  trouble  now  ?  "    I  asked. 

''  Well,  I  have  written  to  you  about  my 
practice,  and  I'tc  wired  to  you  about  it,  and 
here  you  sit  asking  me  if  I  work  it  in  two 
rooms.  I'll  have  to  hire  the  market  square  be- 
fore I've  finished,  and  then  I  won't  have  space 
to  wag  my  elbows.  Can  your  imagination  rise 
to  a  great  house  with  people  waiting  in  every 
room,  jammed  in  as  tight  as  they'll  fit,  and  two 
layers  of  them  squatting  in  the  cellar?  Well, 
that's  my  house  of  business  on  an  average  day. 
The  folk  come  in  from  the  county  fifty  miles  off, 
and  eat  bread  and  treacle  on  the  doorstep,  so  as 
to  be  first  in  when  the  housekeeper  comes  down. 


THE   STARK   MUNRO   LETTERS. 


129 


The  medical  officer  of  health  made  an  official 
complaint  of  the  over-crowding  of  my  waiting- 
rooms.  They  wait  in  the  stables,  and  sit  along 
the  racks  and  under  the  horses'  bellies.  I'll  turn 
some  of  'em  on  to  you,  my  boy,  and  then  you'll 
know  a  little  more  about  it." 

Well,  all  this  puzzled  me  a  good  deal,  as  you 
can  imagine,  Bertie ;  for,  making  every  allow- 
ance for  Cullingworth's  inflated  way  of  talking, 
there  must  be  something  at  the  back  of  it.  I 
was  thinking  to  myself  that  I  must  keep  my 
head  cool,  and  have  a  look  at  everything  with 
my  own  eyes,  when  the  carriage  pulled  up  and 
we  got  out. 

"  This  is  my  little  place,"  said   CuUingworth. 

It  was  the  corner  house  of  a  line  of  fine 
buildings,  and  looked  to  me  much  more  like  a 
good-sized  hotel  than  a  private  mansion.  It 
had  a  broad  sweep  of  steps  leading  to  the  door, 
and  towered  away  up  to  five  or  six  stories, 
with  pinnacles  and  a  flagstaff  on  the  top.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  learned  that  before  CuUing- 
worth took  it,  it  had  been  one  of  the  chief 
clubs  in  the  town,  but  the  committee  had  aban- 
doned it  on  account  of  the  heavy  rent.     A  smart 


130 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


maid  opened  the  door ;  and  a  moment  later  I 
was  shaking  hands  with  Mrs.  Cullingworth,  who 
was  all  kindliness  and  cordiality.  She  has,  I 
think,  forgotten  the  little  Avonmouth  business, 
when  her  husband  and  I  fell  out. 

The  inside  of  the  house  was  even  huger  than 
I  had  thought  from  the  look  of  the  exterior. 
There  were  over  thirty  bedrooms,  Cullingworth 
informed  me,  as  he  helped  me  to  carry  my 
portmanteau  upstairs.  The  hall  and  first  stair 
were  most  excellently  furnished  and  carpetted, 
but  it  all  run  to  nothing  at  the  landing.  My 
own  bedroom  had  a  little  iron  bed,  and  a  small 
basin  standing  on  a  packing  case.  Cullingworth 
took  a  hammer  from  the  mantelpiece,  and  began 
to  knock  in  nails  behind  the  door. 

"  These  will  do  to  hang  3'our  clothes  on," 
said  he ;  "  you  don't  mind  roughing  it  a  little 
until  we  get  things  in  order?" 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

''  You  see,"  he  explained,  "  there's  no  good 
my  putting  a  forty  pound  suite  into  a  bed-room, 
/and  then  having  to  chuck  it  all  out  of  the  win- 
dow in  order  to  make  room  for  a  hundred- 
pound    one.      No    sense    in    that,    Munro !       Eh, 


,il^^ 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


131 


what!  I'm  going  to  furnish  this  house  as  no 
house  has  ever  been  furnished.  By  Crums!  I'll 
bring  the  folk  from  a  hundred  miles  round  just 
to  have  leave  to  look  at  it.  But  I  must  do  it 
room  by  room.  Come  down  with  me  and  look 
at  the  dining-room.  You  must  be  hungry  after 
your  journey." 

It  really  was  furnished  in  a  marvellous  way — ■ 
nothing  flash,  and  everything  magnificent.  The 
carpet  was  so  rich  that  my  feet  seemed  to  sink 
into  it  as  into  deep  moss.  The  soup  was  on  the 
table,  and  Mrs.  Cullingworth  sitting  down,  but 
he  kept  hauling  me  round  to  look  at  something 
else. 

''  Go  on,  Hetty,"  he  cried  over  his  shoulder. 
"  I  just  want  to  show  Munro  this.  Now,  these 
plain  dining-room  chairs,  what  d'you  think  they 
cost  each?     Eh,  what?" 

'*  Five  pounds,"  said  I  at  a  venture. 

''Exactly!"  he  cried,  in  great  delight;  "thirty 
pounds  for  the  six.  You  hear,  Hetty!  Munro 
guessed  the  price  first  shot.  Now,  my  boy,  what 
for  the  pair  of  curtains?" 

They  were  a  magnificent  pair  of  stamped 
crimson  velvet,  with  a  two-foot  gilt  cornice  above 


132  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

them.  I  thought  that  I  had  better  not  imperil 
my  newly  gained  reputation  by  guessing. 

"  Eighty  pounds !  "  he  roared,  slapping  them 
with  the  back  of  his  hand.  "  Eighty  pounds, 
Munro  !  What  d'ye  think  of  that?  Everything 
that  I  have  in  this  house  is  going  to  be  of  the 
best.  Why,  look  at  this  waiting-maid  !  Did  you 
ever  see  a  neater  one  ?  " 

He  swung  the  girl  towards  me  by  the  arm. 
"  Don't  be  silly,  Jimmy,"  said  Mrs.  Cullingworth 
mildly,  while  he  roared  with  laughter,  Avith  all  his 
fangs  flashing  under  his  bristling  moustache.  The 
girl  edged  closer  to  her  misti"ess,  looking  half- 
frightened  and  half-angry. 

"  All  right,  Mary,  no  harm  !  "  he  cried.  "  Sit 
down,  Munro,  old  chap.  Get  a  bottle  of 
champagne,  Mary,  and  we'll  drink  to  more 
luck." 

Well,  we  had  a  ver}^  pleasant  little  dinner.  It 
is  never  slow  if  Cullingworth  is  about.  He  is 
one  of  those  men  who  make  a  kind  of  magnetic 
atmosphere,  so  that  you  feel  exhilarated  and 
stimulated  in  their  presence.  His  mind  is  so 
nimble  and  his  thoughts  so  extravagant,  that  your 
own    break    away  from    their   usual    grooves,  and 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  133 

surprise  you  by  their  activity.  You  feel  pleased 
at  your  own  inventiveness  and  originality,  when 
you  are  really  like  the  wren  when  it  took  a  lift 
on  the  eagle's  shoulder.  Old  Peterson,  you  re- 
member, used  to  have  a  similar  effect  upon  you 
in  the  Linlithgow  days. 

In  the  middle  of  dinner  he  plunged  off,  and 
came  back  with  a  round  bag  about  the  size  of  a 
pomegranate  in  his  hand. 

''What  d'ye  think  this  is,  Munro  ?     Eh?" 

"  I  have  no  idea." 

*'  Our  day's  take.  Eh,  Hetty  ?  "  He  undid  a 
string,  and  in  an  instant  a  pile  of  gold  and  silver 
rattled  down  upon  the  cloth,  the  coins  whirling 
and  clinking  among  the  dishes.  One  rolled  off 
the  table  and  was  retrieved  by  the  maid  from 
some  distant  corner. 

"  What  is  it,  Mary  ?  A  half  sovereign  ?  Put 
it  in  your  pocket.  What  did  the  lot  come  to, 
Hetty?" 

"  Thirty-one  pound  eight." 

''You  see,  Munro!  One  day's  work."  He 
plunged  his  hand  into  his  trouser  pocket  and 
brought  out  a  pile  of  sovereigns,  which  he  bal- 
anced    in    his     palm.       "  Look     at     that,    laddie. 


134 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


Rather  different  from  my  Avonmouth  form,  eh  ? 
What  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  good  news  for  them,"  I  sug- 
gested. 

He  was  scowling  at  me  in  an  instant  with  all 
his  old  ferocity.  You  cannot  imagine  a  more 
savage-looking  creature  than  CuUingworth  is  when 
his  temper  goes  wrong.  He  gets  a  perfectly 
fiendish  expression  in  his  light  blue  eyes,  and  all 
his  hair  bristles  up  like  a  striking  cobra.  He 
isn't  a  beauty  at  his  best,  but  at  his  worst  he's 
really  phenomenal.  At  the  first  danger  signal  his 
wife  had  ordered  the  maid  from  the  room. 

"What  rot  you  do  talk,  Munro!"  he  cried. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  am  going  to  cripple  myself 
for  years  by  letting  those  debts  hang  on  to 
me  ?  " 

''  I  understood  that  you  had  promised," 
said  I.  "  Still,  of  course,  it  is  no  business  of 
mine." 

'*  I  should  hope  not,"  he  cried.  *'  A  trades- 
man stands  to  win  or  to  lose.  He  allows  a  mar- 
gin for  bad  debts.  I  would  have  paid  it  if  I 
could.  I  couldn't,  and  so  I  wiped  the  slate  clean. 
No   one    in  his  senses  would    dream    of   spending 


THE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS. 


135 


all  the  money  that  I  make  in  Bradfield  upon  the 
tradesmen  of  Avonmouth." 

"Suppose  they  come  down  upon  you?" 

'*  Well,  we'll  see  about  that  when  they  do. 
Meanwhile  I  am  paying  ready  money  for  every 
mortal  thing  that  comes  up  the  door  steps.  They 
think  so  well  of  me  here  that  I  could  have  had 
the  whole  place  furnished  like  a  palace  from  the 
drain  pipes  to  the  flagstaff,  only  I  determined  to 
take  each  room  in  turn  when  I  was  ready  for  it. 
There's  nearly  four  hundred  pounds  under  this 
one  ceiling." 

There  came  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  in  walked 
a  boy  in  buttons. 

''  If  you  please,  sir,  Mr.  Duncan  wishes  to  see 
you." 

"  Give  my  compliments  to  Mr.  Duncan,  and 
tell  him  he  may  go  to  the  devil !  " 

"  My  dear  Jimmy  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Culling  worth. 

''Tell  him  I  am  at  dinner;  and  if  all  the  kings 
in  Europe  were  waiting  in  the  hall  with  their 
crowns  in  their  hands  I  wouldn't  cross  that  door 
mat  to  see  them." 

The  boy  vanished,  but  was  back  in  an  in- 
stant. 


136  THE   STARK    MONRO   LETTERS. 

"  Please,  sir,  he  won't  go." 

''Won't  go!  What  d'jou  mean?"  Culling- 
worth  sat  with  his  mouth  open  and  his  knife  and 
fork  sticking  up.  ''What  d'you  mean,  you  brat? 
What  are  you  boggling  about?" 

''  It's  his  bill,  sir,"  said  the  frightened  boy. 

Cullingworth's  face  grew  dusky,  and  the  veins 
began  to  swell  on  his  forehead. 

"  His  bill,  eh !  Look  here  !  "  He  took  his 
watch  out  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  "  It's  two 
minutes  to  eight.  At  eight  I'm  coming  out,  and 
if  I  find  him  there  I'll  strew  the  street  with  him. 
Tell  him  I'll  shred  him  over  the  parish.  He  has 
two  minutes  to  save  his  life  in,  and  one  of  them 
is  nearly  gone." 

The  boy  bolted  from  the  room,  and  in  an 
instant  afterwards  we  heard  the  bang  of  the 
front  door,  with  a  clatter  of  steps  down  the 
stairs.  Cullingworth  lay  back  in  his  chair  and 
roared  until  the  tears  shone  on  his  eyelashes, 
while  his  wife  quivered  all  over  with  sympa- 
thetic merriment. 

"  I'll  drive  him  mad,"  Cullingworth  sobbed  at 
last.  "  He's  a  nervous,  chicken-livered  kind  of 
man  ;     and    when    I    look    at    him    he   turns   the 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  1 3^7 

colour  of  putty.  If  I  pass  his  shop  I  usually 
just  drop  in  and  stand  and  look  at  him.  I 
never  speak,  but  just  look.  It  paralyses  him. 
Sometimes  the  shop  is  full  of  people  ;  but  it  is 
just  the  same." 

''Who  is  he,  then?"  I  asked. 

"  He's  my  corn  merchant.  I  was  saying-  that 
I  paid  my  tradesmen  as  I  go,  but  he  is  the  only 
exception.  He  has  done  me  once  or  twice,  you 
see  ;  and  so  I  try  to  take  it  out  of  him.  By 
the  way,  you  might  send  him  down  twenty 
pounds  to-morrow,  Hetty.  It's  time  for  an  in- 
stalment." 

What  a  gossip  you  will  think  me,  Bertie  ? 
But  when  I  begin,  my  memory  brings  every- 
thing back  so  clearly,  and  I  write  on  and  on 
almost  unconsciously.  Besides,  this  fellow  is 
such  a  mixture  of  qualities,  that  I  could  never 
give  3'ou  any  idea  of  him  by  myself ;  and 
so  I  just  try  to  repeat  to  you  what  he  says, 
and  what  he  does,  so  that  you  may  build 
up  your  own  picture  of  the  man.  I  know  that 
he  has  always  interested  you,  and  that  he  does 
so  more  now  than  ever  since  our  fates  have 
drawn   us  together  again. 


138  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

After  dinner,  we  went  into  the  back  room, 
which  was  the  most  extraordinary  contrast  to 
the  front  one,  having-  only  a  plain  deal  table, 
and  half-a-dozen  kitchen  chairs  scattered  about 
on  a  linoleum  floor.  At  one  end  w^as  an  electric 
battery  and  a  big  magnet.  At  the  other,  a 
packing  case  with  sevei-al  pistols  and  a  litter  of 
cartridges  upon  it.  A  rook  rifle  was  leaning  up 
against  it,  and  looking  round  I  saw  that  the 
walls  were  all  pocked  with  bullet  marks. 

"What's  this,  then?"  I  asked,  rolling  my 
eyes  round. 

"Hetty,  what's  this?"  he  asked,  with  his 
pipe  in  his    hand    and   his  head  cocked  sideways. 

"  Naval  supremacy  and  the  command  of  the 
seas,"  said   she,  like  a  child   repeating  a  lesson. 

"  That's  it  !  "  he  shouted,  stabbing  at  me 
with  the  amber.  "  Naval  supremacy  and  com- 
mand of  the  seas.  It's  all  here  right  under  your 
nose.  I  tell  you,  Munro,  I  could  go  to  Switzer- 
land to-morrow,  and  I  could  say  to  them — *  Look 
here,  you  haven't  got  a  seaboard  and  you 
haven't  got  a  port ;  but  just  find  me  a  ship, 
and  hoist  your  flag  on  it,  and  I'll  give  you 
every  ocean  under    heaven.'      I'd  sweep  the    seas 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  130 

until  there  wasn't  a  match-box  floating  on  them. 
Or  I  could  make  them  over  to  a  limited  com- 
pany, and  join  the  board  after  allotment.  I  hold 
the  salt  water  in  the  cup  of  this  hand,  every 
drop  of  it." 

Flis  wife  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulder  with 
admiration  in  her  e3-es.  I  turned  to  knock  out 
my  pipe,  and    grinned    over  the   grate. 

"  Oh,  you  may  grin,"  said  he.  (He  was 
wonderfully  quick  at  spotting  what  you  were 
doing.)  "  You'll  grin  a  little  wider  when  you 
see  the  dividends  coming  in.  What's  the  value 
of   that  magnet  ?  " 

"  A  pound  ?  " 

*'  A  million  pounds.  Not  a  penny  under. 
And  dirt  cheap  to  the  nation  that  buys  it.  I 
shall  let  it  go  at  that,  though  I  could  make  ten 
times  as  much  if  I  held  on.  I  shall  take  it  up 
to  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy  in  a  week  or  two; 
and  if  he  seems  to  be  a  civil  deserving  sort  of 
person  I  shall  do  business  with  him.  It's  not 
every  da}^,  Munro,  that  a  man  comes  into  his 
of^ce  with  the  Atlantic  under  one  arm  and  the 
Pacific  under  the  other.     Eh,  what  ?  " 

I  knew  it  would    make   him  savage,  but  I  lay 


I40 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


back  in  my  chair  and  laughed  until  I  was  tired. 
His  wife  looked  at  me  reproachfully  ;  but  he, 
after  a  moment  of  blackness,  burst  out  laughing 
also,  stamping  up  and  down  the  room  and  wav- 
ing his  arms. 

"  Of  course  it  seems  absurd  to  you,"  he 
cried.  "  Well,  I  daresay  it  would  to  me  if  any 
other  fellow  had  worked  it  out.  But  you  may 
take  my  word  for  it  that  it's  all  right.  Hetty 
here  will  answer  for  it.     Won't  you,  Hetty  ?  " 

"  It's  splendid,  my  dear." 

"  Now  I'll  show  you,  Munro ;  what  an  un- 
believing Jew  you  are,  trying  to  look  interested, 
and  giggling  at  the  back  of  your  throat !  In 
the  first  place,  I  have  discovered  a  method — • 
which  I  won't  tell  you — of  increasing  the  at- 
tractive power  of  a  magnet  a  hundred-fold. 
Have  you  grasped  that  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

''  Very  good.  You  are  also  aware,  I  presume, 
that  modern  projectiles  are  either  made  of  or 
tipped  with  steel.  It  may  possibly  have  come  to 
your  ears  that  magnets  attract  steel.  Permit 
me  now  to  show  you  a  small  experiment."  He 
bent  over  his  apparatus,    and    I    suddenly    heard 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


14] 


the  snapping  of  electricity.  *'  This,"  he  con- 
tinued going  across  to  the  packing  case,  "  is  a 
saloon  pistol,  and  will  be  exhibited  in  the  mu- 
seums of  the  next  century  as  being  the  weapon 
with  which  the  new  era  was  inaugurated.  Into 
the  breech  I  place  a  Boxer  cartridge,  specially 
provided  for  experimental  purposes  with  a  steel 
bullet.  I  aim  point  blank  at  the  dab  of  red 
sealing  w^ax  upon  the  wall,  which  is  four  inches 
above  the  magnet.  I  am  an  absolutely  dead 
shot.  I  fire.  You  will  now  advance,  and  satisfy 
yourself  that  the  bullet  is  flattened  upon  the 
end  of  the  magnet,  after  which  you  will  apol- 
ogise to  me  for  that  grin." 

I  looked,  and  it  certainly  was  as  he  had 
said. 

*'  I'll  tell  you  what  I  would  do,"  he  cried. 
"  I  am  prepared  to  put  that  magnet  in  Hetty's 
bonnet,  and  to  let  you  fire  six  shots  straight  at 
her  face.  How's  that  for  a  test?  You  wouldn't 
mind,   Hetty?     Eh,  what!" 

I  don't  think  she  would  have  objected,  but 
I  hastened  to  disclaim  any  share  in  such  an  ex- 
periment. 

"  Of  course,  you    see  that    the  whole    thing  is 


142 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


to  scale.  My  warship  of  the  future  carries  at 
her  prow  and  stern  a  magnet  which  shall  be  as 
much  larger  than  that  as  the  big  shell  w^ill  be 
laro-er  than  this  tinv  bullet.  Or  I  mio^ht  have  a 
separate  raft,  possibly,  to  carry  my  apparatus. 
My  ship  goes  into  action.  What  happens  then, 
Munro  ?  Eh,  what !  Every  shot  fired  at  her 
goes  smack  on  to  the  magnet.  There's  a  reser- 
voir below  into  w^hich  they  drop  when  the  elec- 
tric circuit  is  broken.  After  every  action  they 
are  sold  by  auction  for  old  metal,  and  the  result 
divided  as  prize  money  among  the  crew.  But 
think  of  it,  man !  I  tell  you  it  is  an  absolute 
impossibility  for  a  shot  to  strike  any  ship  which 
is  provided  with  my  apparatus.  And  then  look 
at  the  cheapness.  You  don't  want  armour.  You 
want  nothing.  Any  ship  that  floats  becomes  in- 
vulnerable with  one  of  these.  The  war  ship  of 
the  future  wuU  cost  anything  from  seven  pound 
ten.  You're  grinning  again  ;  but  if  you  give 
me  a  maijnet  and  a  Brixton  trawler  with  a 
seven-pounder  gun  I'll  show  sport  to  the  finest 
battle-ship  afloat." 

"  Well,  there    must    be  some    flaw  about  this," 
I  suggested.     "  If  your  magnet  is  so  strong  as  all 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  143 

that,  you  would  have  your  own  broadside  boom- 
eranging-  back  upon  you." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  There's  a  bis:  difference 
between  a  shot  flying  away  from  you  with  all 
its  muzzle  velocity,  and  another  one  which  is 
coming  towards  you  and  only  needs  a  slight  de- 
flection to  strike  the  magnet.  Besides,  by  break- 
ing the  circuit  I  can  take  off  the  influence  when 
I  am  firing  my  own  broadside.  Then  I  connect, 
and  instantly  become  invulnerable." 

•'And  your  nails  and  screws?" 

*'  The  warship  of  the  future  will  be  bolted  to- 
gether by  wood." 

Well,  he  would  talk  of  nothing  else  the  whole 
evening  but  of  this  wonderful  invention  of  his. 
Perhaps  there  is  nothing  in  it — probably  there  is 
not  ;  and  yet  it  illustrates  the  many-sided  nature  of 
the  man,  that  he  should  not  say  one  word  about  his 
phenominal  success  here — of  which  I  am  naturally 
most  anxious  to  hear — not  a  word  either  upon  the 
important  subject  of  our  partnership,  but  will 
think  and  talk  of  nothing  but  this  extraordinary 
naval  idea.  In  a  week  he  will  have  tossed  it  aside 
in  all  probability,  and  be  immersed  in  some  plan  for 
reuniting  the  Jews  and  settling  them   in   Madagas- 


144  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

car.  Yet  from  all  he  has  said,  and  all  I  have  seen, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  has  in  some  inexpli- 
cable way  made  a  tremendous  hit,  and  to-morrow  I 
shall  let  you  know  all  about  it.  Come  what  may,  1 
am  delighted  that  I  came,  for  things  promise  to  be 
interesting.  Regard  this  not  as  the  end  of  a  letter, 
but  of  a  paragraph.  You  shall  have  the  conclusion 
to-morrow,  or  on  Thursday  at  the  latest.  Good- 
bye, and  my  remembrance  to  Lawrence  if  you  see 
him.     How's  your  friend  from  Yale.^ 


VII. 

I  The  Parade,  Bradfield,  gth  March,  1S82. 

Well,  you  see  I  am  as  good  as  my  word,  Ber- 
tie;  and  here  is  a  full  account  of  this  queer  little 
sample  gouged  out  of  real  life,  never  to  be  seen,  I 
should  fancy,  by  any  eye  sav^e  your  own.  I  have 
written  to  Horton  also,  and  of  course  to  my 
mother;  but  I  don't  2:0  into  detail  with  them,  as  I 
have  got  into  the  way  of  doing  with  you.  You 
keep  on  assuring  me  that  you  like  it ;  so  on  your 
own  head  be  it  if  you  find  my  experiences  gradu- 
all}^  developing  into  a  weariness. 

When  I  woke  in  the  morning,  and  looked  round 
at  the  bare  w^alls  and  the  basin  on  the  packing 
case,  I  hardly  knew  where  I  was.  Cullingworlh 
came  charging  into  the  room  in  his  dressing  go\A'n, 
however,  and  roused  me  effectually  by  putting  his 
hands  on  the  rail  at  the  end  of  the  bed,  and  throw- 
ing a  somersault  over  it  which  brought  his  heels 
on  to   my  pillow  with   a   thud.     He   was   in   great 

145 


146  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

spirits,  and,  squatting  on  the  bed,  he  held  forth 
about  his  plans  while  1  dixssed. 

"  I  tell  you  one  of  the  first  things  I  mean  to  do, 
Munro,"  said  he.  "  I  mean  to  have  a  paper  of  my 
own.  We'll  start  a  weekl}^  paper  here,  you  and  I, 
and  we'll  make  them  sit  up  all  round.  We'll  have 
an  organ  of  our  own,  just  like  every  Fi-ench  politi- 
cian. If  any  one  crosses  us,  we'll  make  them  wish 
they  had  never  been  born.  Eh,  what,  laddie? 
what  d'you  think  ?  So  clever,  Munro,  that  every- 
body's bound  to  read  it,  and  so  scathing  that  it  will 
just  fetch  out  blisters  every  time.  Don't  you 
think  we  could  ?  " 

"  What  politics?"  I  asked. 

''  Oh,  curse  the  politics !  Red  pepper  well 
rubbed  in,  that's  my  idea  of  a  paper.  Call  it  the 
Scorpion.  Chaff  the  Mayor  and  the  Council  until 
they  call  a  meeting  and  hang  themselves.  I'd  do 
the  snappy  paragraphs,  and  you  would  do  the  fic- 
tion and  poetry.  I  thought  about  it  during  the 
night,  and  Hetty  has  written  to  Murdoch's  to  get 
an  estimate  for  the  printing.  We  might  get  our 
first  number  out  this  day   week." 

"  My  dear  chap  !  "  I  gasped. 

*'  I    want   you    to   start  a   novel    this    morning. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  I47 

You  won't  get  many  patients  at  first,  and  you'll 
have  lots  of  time." 

"  But  I  never  wrote  a  line  in  my  life." 

''  A  properly  balanced  man  can  do  anything  he 
sets  his  hand  to.  He's  got  every  possible  qual- 
ity inside  him,  and  all  he  wants  is  the  will  to  de- 
velop it." 

"  Could  you  write  a  novel  yourself?"  I  asked. 

''Of  course  I  could.  Such  a  novel,  Munro, 
that  when  they'd  read  the  first  chapter  the  folk 
would  just  sit  groaning  until  the  second  came  out. 
They'd  wait  in  rows  outside  my  door  in  the  hope 
of  hearing  what  was  coming  next.  By  Crums,  I'll 
go  and  begin  it  now  !  "  And,  with  another  somer- 
sault over  the  end  of  the  bed,  he  rushed  from  the 
room,  with  the  tassels  of  his  dressing  gown  flying 
behind   him. 

I  daresay  you've  quite  come  to  the  conclusion 
by  this  time  that  Cullingworth  is  simply  an  inter- 
esting pathological  stud}^ — a  man  in  the  first  stage 
of  lunacy  or  general  paralysis.  You  might  not  be 
so  sure' about  it  if  you  were  in  close  contact  with 
him.  He  justifies  his  wildest  flights  by  what  he 
does.  It  sounds  grotesque  when  put  down  in 
black  and  white  ;  but  then  it  would  have  sounded 


1^8  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

equally  grotesque  a  year  ago  if  he  had  said  that  he 
would  build  up  a  huge  practice  in  a  twelvemonth. 
Now  we  see  that  he  has  done  it.  His  possibilities 
are  immense.  He  has  such  huge  energy  at  the 
back  of  his  fertility  of  invention.  1  am  afraid,  on 
thinking  over  all  that  I  have  written  to  you,  that  I 
may  have  given  you  a  false  impression  of  the  man 
by  dwelling  too  much  on  those  incidents  in  which 
he  has  shown  the  strange  and  violent  side  of  his 
character,  and  omitting  the  stretches  between 
where  his  wisdom  and  judgment  have  had  a 
chance.  His  conversation  when  he  does  not  fly  off 
at  a  tangent  is  full  of  pith  and  idea.  "  The  great- 
est monument  ever  erected  to  Napoleon  Buona- 
parte was  the  British  National  debt,"  said  he  yes- 
terday. Again,  *'  We  must  never  forget  that  the 
principal  export  of  Great  Britain  to  the  United 
States  2s  the  United  States."  Again,  speaking  ot 
Christianity,  "  What  is  intellectually  unsound  can- 
not be  morally  sound."  He  shoots  off  a  whole  col- 
umn of  aphorisms  in  a  single  evening.  I  should 
like  to  have  a  man  with  a  note  book  alwa3's  beside 
him  to  gather  up  his  waste.  No;  you  must  not 
let  me  give  you  a  false  impression  of  the  man's 
capacity.     On   the  other  hand,  it  would  be  dishon- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


149 


est  to  deny  that  I  think  him  thoroughly  unscrupu- 
lous, and  full  of  very  sinister  traits.  I  am  much 
mistaken,  however,  if  he  has  not  fine  strata  in  his 
nature.  He  is  capable  of  rising  to  heights  as  well 
as  of  sinking  to  depths. 

Well,  when  we  had  breakfasted  we  got  into 
the  carriage  and  drove  off  to  the  place  of  busi- 
ness. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  surprised  at  Hetty  com- 
ing with  us,"  said  Cullingworth,  slapping  me  on 
the  knee.  "  Hetty,  Munro  is  wondering  what 
the  devil  you  are  here  for,  only  he  is  too  polite 
to  ask." 

In  fact,  it  Jiad  struck  me  as  rather  strange 
that  she  should,  as  a  matter  of  course,  accom- 
pany us   to    business. 

*'  You'll  see  when  we  get  there,"  he  cried 
chucklinpf.     '^  We  run  this   affair   on   lines  of   our 


own." 


It  was  not  very  far,  and  we  soon  found  our- 
selves outside  a  square  whitewashed  building, 
which  had  a  huge  "  Dr.  Cullingworth  "  on  a 
great  brass  plate  at  the  side  of  the  door.  Un- 
derneath was  printed  ''  May  be  consulted  gratis 
from  ten  to    four."      The    door  was    open,  and    I 


I50 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


caught  a  glimpse  of  a  crowd  of  people  waiting 
in  the   hall. 

"How  many  here?"  asked  Cullingworth  of 
the  page  bo3^ 

"  A  hundred  and  forty,  sir." 

''AH  the  waiting  rooms  full?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

''Courtyard  full?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Stable  full?" 

"  Yes,  sir.'' 

"  Coach-house  full?" 

"  There's  still  room  in  the  coach-house,  sir." 

"  Ah,  I'm  sorry  we  haven't  got  a  crowded 
day  for  you,  Munro,"  said  he.  "  Of  course,  we 
can't  command  these  things,  and  must  take  them 
as  they  come.  Now  then,  now  then,  make  a 
gangway,  can't  you  ? " — this  to  his  patients. 
"  Come  here  and  see  the  waiting-room.  Pooh  ! 
what  an  atmosphere !  Why  on  earth  can't  you 
open  the  windows  for  yourselves?  I  never  saw 
such  folk !  There  are  thirty  people  in  this 
room,  Munro,  and  not  one  with  sense  enough 
to  open  a  window  to  save  himself  from  suffo- 
cation." 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


151 


"  I  tried,  sir,  but  there's  a  screw  through  the 
sash,"  cried  one  fellow. 

"  Ah,  my  boy,  you'll  never  get  on  in  the 
world  if  you  can't  open  a  window  without  rais- 
ing a  sash,"  said  CuUingworth,  slapping  him  on 
the  shoulder.  He  took  the  man's  umbrella  and 
stuck  it  through  two  of   the  panes  of  glass. 

**  That's  the  way !  "  he  said.  ''  Boy,  see  that 
the  screw  is  taken  out.  Now  then,  Munro, 
come  along,  and  we'll  get  to  work." 

We  went  up  a  wooden  stair,  uncarpeted, 
leaving  every  room  beneath  us,  as  far  as  I 
could  see,  crowded  with  patients.  At  the  top 
was  a  bare  passage,  which  had  two  rooms  op- 
posite to  each  other  at  one  end,  and  a  single 
one  at  the  other. 

"  This  is  my  consulting  room,"  said  he,  lead- 
ing the  way  into  one  of  these.  It  was  a  good- 
sized  square  chamber,  perfectly  empty  save  for 
two  plain  wooden  chairs  and  an  unpainted  table 
with  two  books  and  a  stethoscope  upon  it.  ''  It 
doesn't  look  like  four  or  five  thousand  a  year, 
does  it?  Now,  there  is  an  exactly  similar  one 
opposite  which  you  can  have  for  yourself.  I'll 
send    across    any  surgical    cases   which    may  turn 


52 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


up.  To-day,  however,  I  think  you  had  better 
stay  with  me,  and  see  how  I  work  things." 

*'  I  should  very  much  like  to,"  said  I. 

**  There  are  one  or  two  elementary  rules  to 
be  observed  in  the  way  of  handling  patients," 
he  remarked,  seating  himself  on  the  table  and 
swinging  his  legs.  "  The  most  obvious  is  that 
you  must  never  let  them  see  that  you  w^ant 
them.  It  should  be  pure  condescension  on  your 
part  seeing  them  at  all ;  and  the  more  difficul- 
ties you  throw  in  the  way  of  it,  the  more  they 
think  of  it.  Break  your  patients  in  early,  and 
keep  them  well  to  heel.  Never  make  the  fatal 
mistake  of  being  polite  to  them.  Many  foolish 
young  men  fall  into  this  habit,  and  are  ruined  in 
consequence.  Now,  this  is  my  form  " — he  sprang 
to  the  door,  and  putting  his  two  hands  to  his 
mouth  he  bellowed  :  ''  Stop  your  confounded 
jabbering  down  there  !  I  might  as  well  be  liv- 
ing above  a  poultry  show  !  There,  you  see,"  he 
added  to  me,  ''  they  will  think  ever  so  much 
more  of  me  for  that." 

''But  don't  they  get  offended?"    I  asked. 

"  I'm  afraid  not.  I  have  a  name  for  this  sort 
of   thing  now,  and    they  have  come  to  expect  it. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


153 


But  an  offended  patient — I  mean  a  thoroughly 
insulted  one— is  the  finest  advertisement  in  the 
world.  If  it  is  a  woman,  she  runs  clacking 
about  among  her  friends  until  your  name  be- 
comes a  household  word,  and  they  all  pretend 
to  sympathise  with  her,  and  agree  among  them- 
selves that  you  must  be  a  remarkably  discern- 
ing man.  I  quarrelled  with  one  man  about  the 
state  of  his  gall  duct,  and  it  ended  by  my 
throwing  him  down  the  stairs.  What  was  the 
result  ?  He  talked  so  much  about  it  that  the 
whole  village  from  which  he  came,  sick  and 
well,  trooped  to  see  me.  The  little  country 
practitioner  who  had  been  buttering  them  up 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century  found  that  he  might 
as  well  put  up  his  shutters.  It's  human  nature, 
my  boy,  and  you  can't  alter  it.  Eh,  what? 
You  make  yourself  cheap  and  you  become 
cheap.  You  put  a  high  price  on  yourself  and 
they  rate  you  at  that  price.  Suppose  I  set  up  in 
Harley  Street  to-morrow,  and  made  it  all  nice 
and  easy,  with  hours  from  ten  to  three,  do  you 
think  I  should  get  a  patient  ?  I  might  starve 
first.     How  would   I   work  it?     I   should  let  it  be 

known  that   I    only    saw    patients   from    midnight 
II 


154 


THE   STARK    MONRO   LETTERS. 


until  two  in  the  morning-,  and  that  bald-headed 
people  must  pay  double.  That  would  set  people 
talking,  their  curiosity  would  be  stimulated,  and 
in  four  months  the  street  would  be  blocked  all 
night.  Eh,  what  ?  laddie,  you'd  go  yourself. 
That's  my  principle  here.  I  often  come  in  of  a 
morning  and  send  them  all  about  their  business, 
tell  them  I'm  going  off  to  the  country  for  a 
day.  I  turn  away  forty  pounds,  and  it's  worth 
four  hundred  as  an  advertisement !  " 

"  But  I  understood  from  the  plate  that  the 
consultations  were  gratis." 

"  So  they  are,  but  they  have  to  pay  for  the 
medicine.  And  if  a  patient  wishes  to  come  out 
of  turn  he  has  to  pay  half-a-guinea  for  the 
privilege.  There  are  generally  about  twenty 
every  day  who  would  rather  pay  that  than  wait 
several  hours.  But,  mind  you,  Munro,  don't 
you  make  any  mistake  about  this !  All  this 
would  go  for  nothing  if  you  had  not  something 
s  )hd  behind — I  cure  them.  That's  the  point.  I 
take  cases  that  others  have  despaired  of,  and  I 
cure  them  right  off.  All  the  rest  is  only  to 
bring  them  here.  But  once  here  I  keep  them 
on   my    merits.       It  would    all   be    a   flash    in    the 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  155 

pan  but  for  that.  Now,  come  along  and  see 
Hetty's  department." 

We  walked  down  the  passage  to  the  other 
room.  It  was  elaborately  fitted  up  as  a  dis- 
pensary, and  there  with  a  chic  little  apron  Mrs. 
Cullingworth  was  busy  making  up  pills.  With 
her  sleeves  turned  up  and  a  litter  of  glasses  and 
bottles  all  round  her,  she  was  laughing  away 
like  a  little   child  among  its  toys. 

"  The  best  dispenser  in  the  world  !  "  cried  Cul- 
lingworth, patting  her  on  the  shoulder.  "  You  see 
how  I  do  it,  Munro.  I  write  on  a  label  what  the 
prescription  is,  and  make  a  sign  which  shows  how 
much  is  to  be  charged.  The  man  comes  along  the 
passage  and  passes  the  label  through  the  pigeon 
hole.  Hetty  makes  it  up,  passes  out  the  bottle, 
and  takes  the  money.  Now,  come  on  and  clear 
some  of  these  folk  out  of  the  house." 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  give  you  any  idea  of 
that  long  line  of  patients,  filing  hour  after  hour 
through  the  unfurnished  room,  and  departing,  some 
amused,  and  some  frightened,  with  their  labels  in 
their  hands.  CuUingworth's  antics  are  beyond  be- 
lief. I  laugfhed  until  I  thousfht  the  wooden  chair 
under  me    would  have  come  to  pieces.     He  roared, 


156 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


he  raved,  he  swore,  he  pushed  them  about,  slapped 
them  on  the  back,  shoved  them  against  the  wall, 
and  occasionally  rushed  out  to  the  head  of  the 
stair  to  address  them  en  masse.  At  the  same  time, 
behind  all  this  tomfoolery,  I,  watching  his  pre- 
scriptions, could  see  a  quickness  of  diagnosis,  a  sci- 
entific insight,  and  a  daring  and  unconventional 
use  of  drugs,  which  satisfied  me  that  he  was  right 
in  saying  that,  under  all  this  charlatanism,  there 
lay  solid  reasons  for  his  success.  Indeed,  *'  char- 
latanism "  is  a  misapplied  w^ord  in  this  connec- 
tion ;  for  it  would  describe  the  doctor  w^ho  puts 
on  an  artificial  and  conventional  manner  with  his 
patients,  rather  than  one  who  is  absolutely  frank 
and  true  to  his  own  extraordinary  nature. 

To  some  of  his  patients  he  neither  said  one 
word  nor  did  he  allow  them  to  say  one.  With  a 
loud  "hush"  he  w^ould  rush  at  them,  thump  them 
on  the  chests,  listen  to  their  hearts,  write  their 
labels,  and  then  run  them  out  of  the  room  by  their 
shoulders.  One  poor  old  lady  he  greeted  with  a 
perfect  scream.  ''  You've  been  drinking  too  much 
tea  !  "  he  cried.  "  You  are  suffering  from  tea  poi- 
soning ! "  Then,  without  allowing  her  to  get  a 
word  in,  he  clutched  her  by   her  crackling  black 


THE   STARK   MUNRO   LETTERS. 


157 


mantle,  dragged  her  up  to  the  table,  and  held  out 
a  copy  of  "  Taylor's  Medical  Jurisprudence  "  which 
was  lying  there.  "  Put  your  hand  on  the  book," 
he  thundered,  "and  swear  that  for  fourteen  days 
you  will  drink  nothing  but  cocoa."  She  swore 
with  upturned  eyes,  and  was  instantly  whirled  off 
with  her  label  in  her  hand,  to  the  dispensary.  I 
could  imagine  that  to  the  last  day  of  her  life,  the 
old  lady  would  talk  of  her  interview  with  CuUing- 
worth  ;  and  I  could  well  understand  how  the  vil- 
lage from  which  she  came  would  send  fresh  re- 
cruits to  block  up  his  waiting  rooms. 

Another  portly  pei'son  was  seized  by  the  two 
armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  just  as  he  was  opening 
his  mouth  to  explain  his  symptoms,  and  was 
rushed  backward  down  the  passage,  down  the 
stairs,  and  finally  into  the  street,  to  the  immense 
delight  of  the  assembled  patients,  ''  You  eat  too 
much,  drink  too  much,  and  sleep  too  much,"  Cul- 
ling worth  roared  after  him.  *'  Knock  down  a  po- 
liceman, and  come  again  when  they  let  you  out." 
Another  patient  complained  of  a  "  sinking  feel- 
ing." "  My  dear,"  said  he,  "  take  your  medicine  ; 
and  if  that  does  no  good,  swallow  the  cork,  for 
there  is  nothing  better  when  you  are  sinking." 


1^8  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

As  far  as  I  could  judge,  the  bulk  of  the  patients 
looked  upon  a  morning  at  Cullingworth's  as  a 
most  enthralling  public  entertainment,  tempered 
only  by  a  thrill  lest  it  should  be  their  turn  next 
to  be  made  an  exhibition  of. 

Well,  with  half-an-hour  for  lunch,  this  extraor- 
dinary business  went  on  till  a  quarter  to  four  in 
the  afternoon.  When  the  last  patient  had  de- 
parted, Cullingworth  led  the  w^ay  into  the  dispen- 
sary, where  all  the  fees  had  been  arranged  upon 
the  counter  in  the  order  of  their  value.  There 
were  seventeen  half-sovereigns,  seventy-three  shil- 
lings, and  forty-six  fiorins ;  or  thirty-two  pounds 
eight  and  sixpence  in  all.  Cullingworth  counted 
it  up,  and  then  mixing  the  gold  and  silver  into  one 
heap,  he  sat  running  his  fingers  through  it  and 
playing  with  it.  Finally,  he  raked  it  into  the  can- 
vas bag  which  I  had  seen  the  night  before,  and 
lashed  the  neck  up  with  a  boot-lace. 

We  walked  home,  and  that  walk  struck  me  as 
the  most  extraordinary  part  of  all  that  extraordi- 
nary da3^  Cullingworth  paraded  slowly  through 
the  principal  streets  with  his  canvas  bag,  full  of 
money,  outstretched  at  the  full  length  of  his  arm. 
His  wife  and  I  walked   on   either  side,  like  two  aco- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  1 5^ 

lytes  supporting  a  priest,  and  so  we  made  our  way 
solemnly  homewards  the  people  stopping  to  see  us 
pass. 

"  I  always  make  a  point  of  walking  through 
the  doctor's  quarter,"  said  Cullingworth.  "  We 
are  passing  through  it  now.  They  all  come  to 
their  windows  and  gnash  their  teeth  and  dance 
until  I  am  out  of  sight." 

''  Why  should  you  quarrel  with  them  ?  What 
is  the  matter  with  them  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Pooh  !  what's  the  use  of  being  mealy-mouthed 
about  it?"  said  he.  ''We  are  all  trying  to  cut 
each  other's  throats,  and  why  should  we  be  hypo- 
critical over  it?  They  haven't  got  a  good  word 
for  me,  any  one  of  them  ;  so  I  like  to  take  a  rise 
out  of  them." 

**  I  must  say  that  I  can  see  no  sense  in  that. 
They  are  your  brothers  in  the  profession,  with 
the  same  education  and  the  same  knowledge. 
Why  should  you  take  an  offensive  attitude  towards 
them?" 

''  That's  what  I  say.  Dr.  Munro,"  cried  his 
wife.  '*  It  is  so  very  unpleasant  to  feel  that  one 
is  surrounded  by  enemies  on  every  side." 

**  Hetty's    riled    because    their  wives    wouldn't 


l6o  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

call  upon  her,"  he  cried.  "  Look  at  that,  my  dear," 
jingling  his  bag.  "  That  is  better  than  having  a 
lot  of  brainless  women  drinking  tea  and  cackling 
in  your  drawing-room.  I've  had  a  big  card 
printed,  Munro,  saying  that  we  don't  desire  to 
increase  the  circle  of  our  acquaintance.  The  maid 
has  orders  to  show  it  to  every  suspicious  person 
who  calls." 

''  Why  should  you  not  make  money  at  your 
practice,  and  yet  remain  on  good  terms  with  your 
professional  brethren?"  said  I.  ''You  speak  as  if 
the  two  things  were  incompatible." 

"  So  they  are.  What's  the  good  of  beating 
about  the  bush,  laddie  ?  My  methods  are  all  un- 
professional, and  I  break  every  law  of  medical 
etiquette  as  often  as  I  can  think  of  it.  You  know 
very  well  that  the  British  Medical  Association 
would  hold  up  their  hands  in  horror  if  it  could 
see  what  you  have  seen  to-day." 

"  But  why  not  conform  to  professional  eti- 
quette?" 

"  Because  I  know  better.  My  boy,  I'm  a  doc- 
tor's son,  and  I've  seen  too  much  of  it.  I  was 
born  inside  the  machine,  and  I've  seen  all  the 
wires.     All   this   etiquette  is  a  dodge  for  keeping 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  i6i 

the  business  in  the  hands  of  the  older  men.  It's 
to  hold  the  young  men  back,  and  to  stop  the 
holes  by  which  they  might  slip  through  to  the 
front.  I've  heard  my  father  say  so  a  score  of 
times.  He  had  the  largest  practice  in  Scotland, 
and  yet  he  was  absolutely  devoid  of  brains.  He 
slipped  into  it  through  seniority  and  decorum. 
No  pushing,  but  take  your  turn.  Very  well, 
laddie,  when  you're  at  the  top  of  the  line,  but 
how  about  it  when  you've  just  taken  your  place  at 
the  tail?  When  I'm  on  the  top  rung  I  shall  look 
down  and  say,  *  Now,  you  youngsters,  we  are  go- 
ing to  have  very  strict  etiquette,  and  I  beg  that 
you  will  come  up  very  quietly  and  not  disarrange 
me  from  my  comfortable  position.'  At  the  same 
time,  if  they  do  what  I  tell  them,  I  shall  look  upon 
them  as  a  lot  of  infernal  blockheads.  Eh,  Munro, 
what?" 

I  could  only  say  again  that  I  thought  he 
took  a  very  low  view  of  the  profession,  and 
that  I  disagreed  with  every  word    he  said. 

**  Well,  my  boy,  you  may  disagree  as  much 
as  you  like,  but  if  you  are  going  to  work  with 
me  you  must   throw  etiquette   to   the    devil!" 

''  I  can't   do  that." 


l62  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

"  Well,  if  you  are  too  clean  handed  for  the 
job  you  can  clear  out.  We  can't  keep  you  here 
against  your  will." 

I  said  nothing  ;  but  when  we  got  back,  I 
went  upstairs  and  packed  up  my  trunk,  with 
every  intention  of  going  back  to  Yorkshire  by 
the  night  train.  He  came  up  to  my  room,  and 
finding  wdiat  I  was  at,  he  burst  into  apologies 
which  would  have  satisfied  a  more  exacting  man 
than  I  am. 

**  You  shall  do  just  exactly  what  you  like,  my 
dear  chap.  If  you  don't  like  my  way,  you  may 
try  some  way  of   your  own." 

"  That's  fair  enough,"  said  I.  "  But  it's  a 
little  trying  to  a  man's  self-respect  if  he  is  told 
to  clear  out  every  time  there  is  a  difference  of 
opinion." 

"  Well,  well,  there  was  no  harm  meant,  and 
it  shan't  occur  again.  I  can't  possibly  say  more 
than  that  ;  so  come  along  down  and  have  a  cup 
of  tea." 

And  so  the  matter  blew  over ;  but  I  very 
much  fear,  Bertie,  that  this  is  the  first  row  of  a 
series.  I  have  a  presentiment  that  sooner  or 
later    my    position    here    will    become    untenable. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  163 

Still,  I  shall  give  it  a  fair  trial  as  long-  as  he 
will  let  me.  Cullingworth  is  a  fellow  who  likes 
to  have  nothing  but  inferiors  and  dependants 
round  him.  Now,  I  like  to  stand  on  my  ow^n 
legs,  and  think  with  my  own  mind.  If  he'll  let 
me  do  this  we'll  get  along  very  w^ell  ;  but  if  I 
know  the  man  he  will  claim  submission,  which 
is  more  than  I  am  inclined  to  give.  He  has  a 
right  to  my  gratitude,  which  I  freely  admit. 
He  has  found  an  opening  for  me  when  I  badly 
needed  one  and  had  no  immediate  pi'ospects. 
But  still,  one  may  pay  too  high  a  pi'ice  even 
for  that,  and  1  should  feel  that  I  was  doing  so 
if  I  had  to  give  up  my  individuality  and  my 
manhood. 

VVe  had  an  incident  that  evening  which  was 
so  characteristic  that  1  must  tell  you  of  it. 
Cullingworth  has  an  air  gun  wdiich  fires  little 
steel  darts.  With  this  he  makes  excellent  prac- 
tice at  about  twenty  feet,  the  length  of  the 
back  room.  We  were  shooting  at  a  mark  after 
dinner,  when  he  asked  me  whether  I  would  hold 
a  halfpenny  between  my  finger  and  thumb,  and 
allow  him  to  shoot  it  out.  A  halfpenny  not 
being  forthcoming,  he    took   a   bronze    medal  out 


164  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


of   his  waistcoat  pocket,  and    1  held  that  up  as  a 
mark.      "  Kling ! "     went    the    air    gun,    and    the   j 
medal  rolled   upon  the  floor.  J 

"  Plumb  in  the  centre,"    said    he.  ? 

*'  On  the    contrary,"  I    answered,    ^'  you   never  ( 
hit  it  at  all!  " 

"Never  hit  it!     I  must  have  hit  it!" 

"  I  am   confident   you  didn't." 

''  Where's  the  dart,  then  ?  " 

'*  Here,"    said    I,  holding    up    a   bleeding  fore- 
finger,   from    which     the     tail    end     of    the    fluff 
with     which     the     dart     was     winged     was     pro-    ( 
truding.  ; 

I    never    saw    a    man    so    abjectly    sorry    for 
anything  in  my  life.     He    used    language   of  self- 
reproach  which   would    have   been  extravagant  if 
he    had    shot   off    one   of    my    limbs.      Our  posi-   ] 
tions    were    absurdly    reversed ;    and    it    was    he    | 
who    sat    collapsed    in    a   chair,    while   it  w^as   I,    { 
with    the    dart    still    in    my    finger,    who    leaned 
over    him     and     lausfhed    the    matter    off.      Mrs.   / 
Cullingworth    had    run    for   hot   water,  and    pres-   { 
ently  with  a   tweezers    w^e   got  the  intruder  out.    | 
There    was    very    little    pain    (more   to-day    than    j 
yesterday),    but    if   ever   you   are   called    upon   to    j 


THE    STARK   MUNRO   LETTERS. 


65 


identify  my  body  you  may  look  for  a  star  at 
the  end  of  my   right  forefinger. 

When  the  surgery  was  completed  (Culling- 
worth  writhing  and  groaning  all  the  time)  my 
eyes  happened  to  catch  the  medal  which  I  had 
dropped,  lying  upon  the  carpet.  I  lifted  it  up 
and  looked  at  it,  eager  to  find  some  topic 
which  would  be  more  agreeable.  Printed  upon 
it  was — "  Presented  to  James  Cullingworth  for 
gallantry    in    saving  life.     Jan.    1879." 

"  Hullo,  Cullingworth,"  said  I.  "  You  never 
told  me  about  this  !  " 

He  was  off  in  an  instant  in  his  most  extrava- 
gant style. 

"What!  the  medal?  Haven't  vou  o-Qt  one? 
I  thought  every  one  had.  You  prefer  to  be 
select,  I  suppose.  It  was  a  little  boy.  You've 
no  idea  the  trouble   I   had    to   get    him   in." 

"  Get  him  out,  you  mean." 

"  My  dear  chap,  you  don't  understand  !  Any 
one  could  get  a  child  out.  It's  getting  one  in 
that's  the  bother.  One  deserves  a  medal  for  it. 
Then  there  are  the  witnesses,  four  shillings  a 
day  I  had  to  pay  them,  and  a  quart  of  beer  in 
the    evenings.      You    see    you    can't    pick    up    a 


l66  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

child  and  carry  it  to  the  edge  of  a  pier  and 
throw  it  in.  You'd  have  all  sorts  of  complica- 
tions with  the  parents.  You  must  be  patient 
and  wait  until  you  get  a  legitimate  chance.  1 
caught  a  quinsy  walking  up  and  down  Avon- 
mouth  pier  before  I  saw  my  opportunity.  He 
was  rather  a  stolid  fat  boy,  and  he  was  sitting 
on  the  very  edge,  fishing.  I  got  the  sole  of  my 
foot  on  to  the  small  of  his  back,  and  shot  him 
an  incredible  distance.  I  had  some  little  diffi- 
culty in  getting  him  out,  for  his  fishing  line  got 
twice  round  my  legs,  but  it  all  ended  well,  and 
the  witnesses  were  as  staunch  as  possible.  The 
boy  came  up  to  thank  me  next  da}^  and  said 
that  he  was  quite  uninjured  save  for  a  bruise 
on  the  back.  His  parents  always  send  me  a 
brace  of   fowls  every  Christmas." 

I  was  sitting  with  my  finger  in  the  hot 
water  listening  to  this  rigmarole.  When  he  had  - 
finished  he  ran  off  to  get  his  tobacco  box,  and 
we  could  hear  the  bellowing  of  his  laughter 
dwindling  up  the  stair.  I  was  still  looking  at 
the  medal,  which,  from  the  dents  all  over  it, 
had  evidently  been  often  used  as  a  target,  when  I 
felt  a  timid  touch  upon    my  sleeve  ;  it  was  Mrs. 


I   felt  a  timid  touch  upon  my  sleeve. 


THE   STARK   MUNRO   LETTERS. 


167 


Cullingvvorth,  who  was  looking-  earnestly  at  me 
with  a  very  distressed  expression  upon  her 
face. 

''  You  believe  far  too  much  what  James 
says,"  said  she.  "  You  don't  know  him  in  the 
least,  Mr.  Munro.  You  don't  look  at  a  thinof 
from  his  point  of  view,  and  you  will  never 
understand  him  until  you  do.  It  is  not,  of 
course,  that  he  means  to  say  anything  that  is 
untrue  ;  but  his  fancy  is  exxited,  and  he  is  quite 
carried  away  by  the  humour  of  any  idea, 
whether  it  tells  against  himself  or  not.  It  hurts 
me,  Mr.  Munro,  to  see  the  only  man  in  the 
world  towards  whom  he  has  any  feeling  of 
friendship,  misunderstanding  him  so  completely, 
for  very  often  when  you  say  nothing  your  face 
shows  very  clearly  what  you   think." 

I  could  only  answer  lamely  that  I  was  very 
sorry  if  I  had  misjudged  her  husband  in  any 
way,  and  that  no  one  had  a  keener  apprecia- 
tion of  some   of   his  qualities  than    I  had. 

"  I  saw  how  gravely  you  looked  when  he 
told  you  that  absurd  story  about  pushing  a 
little  boy  into  the  water,"  she  continued  ;  and, 
as  she  spoke,    she  drew  from    somewhere    in  the 


l68  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

front  of  her  dress  a  much  creased  slip  of  paper. 
**  Just  glance  at  that,  please,  Dr.  Munro." 

It  was  a  newspaper  cutting,  which  gave  the 
true  account  of  the  incident.  Suffice  it  that  it 
was  an  ice  accident,  and  that  Cullingworth  had 
really  behaved  in  a  heroic  way  and  had  been 
drawn  out  himself  insensible,  with  the  child  so 
clasped  in  his  arms  that  it  was  not  until  he 
had  recovered  his  senses  that  they  were  able 
to  separate  them.  1  had  hardly  finished  reading 
it  when  we  heard  his  step  on  the  stairs ;  and  she, 
thrusting  the  paper  back  into  her  bosom,  be- 
came in  an  instant  the  same  silently  watchful 
woman   as    ever. 

Is  he  not  a  conundrum?  If  he  interests  you 
at  a  distance  (and  I  take  for  granted  that  what 
you  say  in  your  letters  is  not  merely  conventional 
compliment)  you  can  think  how  piquant  he  is  in 
actual  life.  I  must  confess,  however,  that  I  can 
never  shake  off  the  feeling  that  I  am  living  with 
some  capricious  creature  who  frequently  growls 
and  may  possibly  bite.  Well,  it  won't  be  very 
long  before  I  write  again,  and  by  that  time  1 
shall  probably  know  whether  I  am  likely  to  find 
any  permanent  billet  here  or  not.     I  am  so  sorry 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


169 


to  hear  about  Mrs.  Swanborough's  indisposition. 
You  know  that  I  take  the  deepest  interest  in 
everything  that  affects  you.  They  tell  me  here 
that  I  am  looking  very  fit,  though  I  think  they 
ought  to  spell  it  with  an  "  a." 


12 


VIII. 

I  The  Parade,  Bbadfield,  6th  April,  1882. 

I  .AM  writing-  this,  my  dear  Bertie,  at  a  little 
table  which  has  been  fitted  up  in  the  window  of 
my  bedroom.  Every  one  in  the  house  is  asleep 
except  myself ;  and  all  the  noise  of  the  city  is 
hushed.  Yet  my  own  brain  is  singularly  active, 
and  I  feel  that  I  am  better  employed  in  sitting 
up  and  writing  to  you,  than  in  tossing  about  upon 
my  bed.  I  am  often  accused  of  being  sleepy  in 
the  daytime,  but  every  now  and  then  Nature 
gets  level  by  making  me  abnormally  wakeful  at 
night. 

Are  you  conscious  of  the  restful  influence  which 
the  stars  exert  ?  To  me  they  are  the  most  sooth- 
ing things  in  Nature.  I  am  proud  to  say  that  I 
don't  know  the  name  of  one  of  them.  The  glam- 
our and  romance  would  pass  away  from  them  if 
the}^  were  all  classified  and  ticketed  in  one's  brain. 
But  when  a  man  is  hot  and   flurried,  and    full    of 

170 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


171 


his  own  little  ruffled  dignities  and  infinitesimal 
misfortunes,  then  a  star  bath  is  the  finest  thing- 
in  the  world.  They  are  so  big,  and  so  serene  and 
so  lovely.  They  tell  me  that  the  interplanetary 
spaces  are  full  of  the  debris  of  shattered  asteroids ; 
so,  perhaps,  even  among  them  there  are  such  things 
as  disease  and  death.  Yet  just  to  look  at  them 
must  remind  a  man  of  what  a  bacillus  of  a  thing  he 
is — the  whole  human  race  like  some  sprinkling  of 
impalpable  powder  upon  the  surface  of  one  of  the 
most  insignificant  fiy-wheels  of  a  monstrous  ma- 
chine. But  there's  order  in  it,  Bertie,  there's  or- 
der!  And  where  there  is  order  there  must  be 
mind,  and  where  there  is  mind  there  must  be  sense 
of  Justice.  I  don't  allow  that  there  can  be  any 
doubt  as  to  the  existence  of  that  central  Mind,  or  as 
to  the  possession  by  it  of  certain  attributes.  The 
stars  help  me  to  realise  these.  It  is  strange,  when 
one  looks  upon  them,  to  think  that  the  Churches 
are  still  squabbling  down  here  over  such  ques- 
tions as  whether  the  Almighty  is  most  gratified 
by  our  emptying  a  tea-spoonful  of  water  over  our 
babies'  heads,  or  by  our  waiting  a  few  years  and 
then  plunging  them  bodily  into  a  tank.  It  would 
be  comic  if  it  were  not  so  tragic. 


172 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


This  train  of  thought  is  the  after-swell  from  an 
argument  with  CuUingworth  this  evening.  He 
holds  that  the  human  race  is  deteriorating  men- 
tally and  morally.  He  calls  out  at  the  grossness 
which  confounds  the  Creator  with  a  young  Jew- 
ish Philosopher.  I  tried  to  show  him  that  this 
is  no  proof  of  degeneration,  since  the  Jewish 
Philosopher  at  least  represented  a  moral  idea, 
and  was  therefore  on  an  infinitely  higher  plane 
than  the  sensual  divinities  of  the  ancients.  His 
own  views  of  the  Creator  seem  to  me  to  be  a  more 
evident  degeneration.  He  declares  that  looking 
round  at  Nature  he  can  see  nothing  but  ruthless- 
ness  and  brutality.  *'  Either  the  Creator  is  not 
all-powerful,  or  else  He  is  not  all-good,"  says  he. 
"  Either  He  can  stop  these  atrocities  and  won't,  in 
which  case  He  is  not  all-good  ;  or  else  He  would 
stop  them  but  can't,  in  which  case  He  is  not  all- 
powerful."  It  was  a  difficult  dilemma  for  a  man 
who  professes  to  stick  to  reason  to  get  out  of.  Of 
course,  if  you  plead  faith,  you  can  always  slip  out 
of  anything.  I  was  forced  to  get  behind  a  corner 
of  that  buckler  with  which  3'Ou  have  so  often 
turned  my  own  thrusts.  I  said  that  the  dilemma 
arose    from    our   taking   it   for   granted    that    that 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


"^71 


which  seemed  evil  really  ivas  evil.  *'  It  lies  with 
you  to  prove  that  it  isn't,"  said  he.  ''  We  may 
hope  that  it  isn't,"  said  I.  ''  Wait  until  some  one 
tells  you  that  you  have  cancer  of  the  p3doric  end 
of  the  stomach,"  said  he ;  and  he  shouted  it  out 
again  every  time  I  tried  to  renew  the  argument. 
But  in  all  soberness,  I  really  do  think,  Bertie, 
that  very  much  which  seems  to  be  saddest  in  life 
might  be  very  different  if  we  could  focus  it  prop- 
erly. I  tried  to  give  you  my  views  about  this  in 
the  case  of  drink  and  immorality.  But  physically, 
I  fancy  that  it  applies  more  obviously  than  it  does 
morally.  All  the  physical  evils  of  life  seem  to  cul- 
minate in  death  ;  and  yet  death,  as  I  have  seen  it, 
has  not  been  a  painful  or  terrible  process.  In 
many  cases,  a  man  dies  without  having  incurred 
nearly  as  much  pain,  during  the  whole  of  his  fatal 
illness,  as  would  have  arisen  from  a  whitlow  or  an 
abscess  of  the  jaw.  And  it  is  often  those  deaths 
which  seem  most  terrible  to  the  onlooker,  which 
are  least  so  to  the  sufferer.  When  a  man  is  over- 
taken by  an  express  and  shivered  into  fragments, 
or  when  he  drops  from  a  fourth-floor  window  and 
is  smashed  into  a  bag  of  splinters,  the  unfortunate 
spectators  are  convulsed  with  horror,  and  find  a 


74 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


text  for  pessimistic  views  about  the  Providence 
which  allows  such  things  to  be.  And  yet,  it  is 
very  doubtful  whether  the  deceased,  could  his 
tongue  be  loosened,  would  remember  anything  at 
all  about  the  matter.  We  know,  as  students  of 
medicine,  that  though  pain  is  usually  associated 
with  cancers  and  with  abdominal  complaints ;  still, 
in  the  various  fevers,  in  apoplexy,  in  blood  poison- 
ings, in  lung  diseases,  and,  in  short,  in  the  greater 
proportion  of  serious  maladies,  there  is  little  suf- 
fering. 

I  remember  how  struck  I  was  when  first  I  saw 
the  actual  cautery  applied  in  a  case  of  spinal  dis- 
ease. The  white  hot  iron  was  pressed  firmly  into 
the  patient's  back,  without  the  use  of  any  anaes- 
thetic, and  what  with  the  sight  and  the  nauseating 
smell  of  burned  fiesh  I  felt  faint  and  ill.  Yet,  to 
my  astonishment,  the  patient  never  flinched  nor 
moved  a  muscle  of  his  face,  and  on  my  inquiring 
afterwards,  he  assured  me  that  the  proceeding  was 
absolutely  painless,  a  remark  which  was  corrobo- 
rated by  the  surgeon.  ''  The  nerves  are  so  com- 
pletely and  instantaneously  destroyed,"  he  ex- 
plained, *'  that  they  have  no  time  to  convey  a  pain- 
ful impression."     But  then  if  this  be  so,  what  be- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  I75 

comes  of  all  the  martyrs  at  the  stake,  and  the  vic- 
tims of  Red  Indians,  and  other  poor  folk  over 
whose  sufferings  and  constancy  we  have  won- 
dered? It  may  be  that  Providence  is  not  only  not 
cruel  itself,  but  will  not  allow  man  to  be  cruel 
either.  Do  your  worst,  and  it  will  step  in  with  a 
"  No,  I  won't  allow  this  poor  child  of  mine  to  be 
hurt  "  ;  and  then  comes  the  dulling  of  the  nerve 
and  the  lethargy  which  takes  the  victim  out  of  the 
reach  of  the  tormentor.  David  Livingstone  under 
the  claws  of  the  lion  must  have  looked  like  an  ob- 
ject lesson  of  the  evil  side  of  things,  and  yet  he  has 
left  it  upon  record  that  his  own  sensations  were 
pleasurable  rather  than  otherwise.  I  am  well  con- 
vinced that  if  the  newly-born  infant  and  the  man 
who  had  just  died  could  compare  their  experi- 
ences, the  former  would  have  proved  to  be  the  suf- 
ferer. It  is  not  for  nothing  that  the  first  thing  the 
newcomer  into  this  planet  does  is  to  open  its 
toothless  mouth  and  protest  energetically  against 
fate. 

Cullingworth  has  written  a  parable  which 
makes  a  paragraph  for  our  wonderful  new  weekly 
paper. 

"  The   little  cheese   mites  held  debate,"  he  says, 


1^76  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

"  as  to  who  made  the  cheese.  Some  thought  that 
they  had  no  data  to  go  upon,  and  some  that  it  had 
come  together  by  a  solidification  of  vapour,  or  by 
the  centrifugal  attraction  of  atoms.  A  few  sur- 
mised that  the  platter  might  have  something  to  do 
with  it ;  but  the  wisest  of  them  could  not  deduce 
the  existence  of  a  cow." 

We  are  at  one,  he  and  I,  in  thinking  that 
the  infinite  is  beyond  our  perception.  We  differ 
only  in  that  he  sees  evil  and  I  see  good  in  the 
working  of  the  universe.  Ah,  what  a  mystery  it 
all  is  !  Let  us  be  honest  and  humble  and  think 
kindly  of  each  other.  There's  a  line  of  stars  all 
winking  at  me  over  the  opposite  roof — winking 
slyly  at  the  silly  little  person  with  the  pen  and 
paper  who  is  so  earnest  about  what  he  can  never 
understand. 

Well,  now,  I'll  come  back  to  something  practi- 
cal. It  is  nearly  a  month  since  I  w^rote  to  you  last. 
The  date  is  impressed  upon  my  memory  because  it 
was  the  day  after  CuUingworth  shot  the  air-dart 
into  my  finger.  The  place  festered  and  prevented 
my  writing  to  any  one  for  a  week  or  two,  but  it  is 
all  right  again  now.  I  have  ever  so  much  of  dif- 
ferent sorts  to  tell  you,  but  really   when  I   come 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


177 


to  think  of  it,  it  does  not  amount  to  very  much 
after  all. 

First  of  all,  about  the  practice.  I  told  you  that 
I  was  to  have  a  room  immediately  opposite  to  Cul- 
lingworth's,  and  that  all  the  surgical  cases  were  to 
be  turned  over  to  me.  For  a  few  days  I  had  noth- 
ing to  do,  except  to  listen  to  him  romping  and 
scuffling  with  his  patients,  or  making  speeches  to 
them  from  the  top  of  the  stairs.  However,  a  great 
*'  Dr.  Stark  Munro,  Surgeon,"  has  been  affixed  to 
the  side  of  the  door  downstairs,  opposite  CuUing- 
worth's  plate  ;  and  a  proud  man  was  I  when  first 
my  eyes  lit  upon  it.  On  the  fourth  day,  however, 
in  came  a  case.  He  little  knew  that  he  was  the 
first  that  I  had  ever  had  all  to  myself  in  my  life. 
Perhaps  he  would  not  have  looked  quite  so  cheer- 
ful if  he  had  realised  it. 

Poor  chap,  he  had  little  enough  to  be  cheery 
over  either.  He  was  an  old  soldier  who  had  lost  a 
good  many  teeth,  but  who  had  continued  to  find 
room  between  his  nose  and  chin  for  a  short  black 
clay  pipe.  Lately  there  appeared  a  small  sore  on 
his  nose  which  had  spread,  and  become  crusted. 
On  feeling  it  I  found  it  as  hard  as  a  streak  of  glue, 
with   constant   darting   pains    passing    through   it. 


1^8  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

Of  course,  there  could  be  no  question  as  to  diag- 
nosis. It  was  epitheliomatous  cancer,  caused  by 
the  irritation  of  the  hot  tobacco  smoke.  1  sent  him 
back  to  his  village,  and  two  days  after  I  drove  over 
in  Cullingworth's  dog-cart,  and  removed  the 
growth.  I  only  got  a  sovereign  for  it.  But  it 
may  be  a  nucleus  for  cases.  The  old  fellow  did 
most  admirably,  and  he  has  just  been  in  (with  a 
most  aristocratic  curl  to  his  nostrils)  to  tell  me  that 
he  has  bought  a  box  full  of  churchwardens.  It 
was  my  first  operation,  and  I  daresay  I  was  more 
nervous  about  it  than  my  patient,  but  the  result 
has  given  me  confidence.  I  have  fully  made  up  my 
mind  to  let  nothing  pass  me.  Come  what  may,  I 
am  prepared  to  do  it.  Why  should  a  man  wait  ? 
Of  course,  I  know  that  many  men  do  ;  but  surely 
one's  nerve  is  more  likely  to  be  strong  and  one's 
knowledge  fresh  now  than  in  twenty  years. 

Cases  came  dribbling  in  from  day  to  day — 
all  very  poor  people,  and  able  to  pay  very 
poor  fees — but  still  most  welcome  to  me.  The 
first  week  I  took  (including  that  operation  fee) 
one  pound  seventeen  and  sixpence.  The  second,  I 
got  two  pounds  exactly.  The  third,  1  had  two 
pounds    five,  and   now   I   find   that   this   last   week 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


179 


has  brought  in  two  pounds  eighteen  ;  so  I  am 
moving  in  the  right  direction.  Of  course,  it  com- 
pares absurdly  enough  with  Cullingworth's  twenty 
pound  a  day,  and  my  little  quiet  back-water  seems 
a  strange  contrast  to  the  noisy  stream  which  pours 
for  ever  through  his  room.  Still,  I  am  quite  satis- 
fied, and  I  have  no  doubt  at  all  that  his  original 
estimate  of  three  hundred  pounds  for  the  first  year 
will  be  amply  justified.  It  would  be  a  pleasant 
thing  to  think  that  if  anything  were  really  to  hap- 
pen at  home,  I  should  be  able  to  be  of  some  use  to 
them.  If  things  go  on  as  they  have  begun,  I  shall 
soon  have  my  feet  firmly  planted. 

I  was  compelled,  by  the  way,  to  forego  an 
opening  which  a  few  months  ago  would  have  been 
the  very  summit  of  my  ambition.  You  must  know 
(possibly  I  told  you),  that  immediately  after  I 
passed,  I  put  my  name  down  as  a  candidate  for  a 
surgeonship  on  the  books  of  several  of  the  big 
steamship  lines.  It  was  done  as  a  forlorn  hope, 
for  a  man  has  usually  to  wait  several  years  before 
histurn  comes  round.  Well,  just  a  week  after  I 
started  here,  I  got  a  telegram  one  night  from  Liv- 
erpool :  '*  Join  the  Dccia  to-morrow  as  surgeon,  not 
later   than    eight   in    the    evening."      It    was    from 


l8o  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

Staunton  &  Merivale,  the  famous  South  American 
firm,  and  the  Decia  is  a  fine  6ooo-ton  passenger 
boat,  doing  the  round  journey  by  Bahia  and 
Buenos  Ayres  to  Rio  and  Valparaiso.  I  had  a  bad 
quarter  of  an  hour,  I  can  tell  3'ou.  1  don't  think 
I  was  ever  so  undecided  about  anything  in  my  life. 
CuUingworth  was  dead  against  m}^  going,  and  his 
influence  carried  the  day. 

"  My  dear  chap,"  said  he,  *'  you'd  knock  down 
the  chief  mate,  and  he'd  spread  3'Ou  out  with  a 
handspike.  You'd  get  tied  by  your  thumbs  to  the 
rigging.  You'd  be  fed  on  stinking  water  and 
putrid  biscuits.  I've  been  reading  a  novel  about 
the  merchant  service,  and   I  know." 

When  I  laughed  at  his  ideas  of  modern  sea-go- 
ing he  tried  another  line. 

**  You're  a  bigger  fool  than  I  take  you  for  if  3'ou 
go,"  said  he.  "  Why,  what  can  it  lead  to  ?  All  the 
money  you  earn  goes  to  buy  a  blue  coat,  and  daub 
it  with  lace.  You  think  you're  bound  for  Valpa- 
raiso, and  you  find  yourself  at  the  poor-house. 
You've  got  a  rare  opening  here,  and  everything 
ready  to  your  hand.  You'll  never  get  such  an- 
other again." 

And    so  it    ended    by  my  letting    them  have  a 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  l8i 

wire  to  say  that  I  could  not  come.  It  is  strange 
when  you  come  to  a  point  where  the  road  of  your 
life  obviously  divides,  and  you  take  one  turning  or 
the  other  after  vainl}^  trying  to  be  sure  about  the 
finger-post.  I  think  after  all  I  chose  rightly.  A 
ship's  surgeon  must  remain  a  ship's  surgeon,  while 
here  there  is  no  horizon  to  my  possibilities. 

As  to  old  Cullingworth,  he  is  booming  along  as 
merrily  as  ever.  You  say  in  your  last,  that  what 
you  cannot  understand  is  how  he  got  his  hold  of 
the  public  in  so  short  a  time.  That  is  just  the 
point  which  I  have  found  it  hard  to  get  light  upon. 
He  told  me  that  after  his  first  coming  he  had  not 
a  patient  for  a  month,  and  that  he  was  so  disheart- 
ened that  he  very  nearly  made  a  moonlight  exo- 
dus. At  last,  however,  a  few  cases  came  his  way 
— and  he  made  such  extraordinary  cures  of  them, 
or  else  impressed  them  so  by  his  eccentricity,  that 
they  would  do  nothing  but  talk  of  him.  Some  of 
his  wonderful  results  got  into  the  local  press, 
though,  after  my  Avonmouth  experience,  1  should 
not  like  to  guarantee  that  he  did  not  himself  con- 
vey them  there.  He  showed  me  an  almanac, 
which  had  a  great  circulation  in  the  district.  It 
had  an  entry  sandwiched  in  this  way  : 


1 82  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

Aug.    15.     Reform  Bill  passed  1867. 
Aug.   16.     Birth  of  Julius  Caesar. 

Aug.   17.     Extraordinary   cure  by  Dr.   Cullingworth 
of  a  case  of  dropsy  in  Bradfield,  1881. 
Aug.   18.     Battle  of  Gravelotte,  1870. 

It  reads  as  if  it  were  one  of  the  landmarks 
of  the  latter  half  of  the  century.  I  asked  him 
how  on  earth  it  got  there  ;  but  I  could  only 
learn  that  the  woman  was  fifty-six  inches  round 
the  waist,  and  that  he  had  treated  her  with 
elaterium. 

That  leads  me  to  another  point.  You  ask 
me  whether  his  cures  are  really  remarkable, 
and,  if  so,  w^hat  his  system  is.  I  answer  un- 
hesitatingly, that  his  cures  are  very  remarkable, 
indeed,  and  that  I  look  upon  him  as  a  sort  of 
Napoleon  of  medicine.  His  view  is  that  the 
pharmacopseal  doses  are  in  nearly  every  in- 
stance much  too  low.  Excessive  timidity  has 
cut  down  the  dose  until  it  has  ceased  to  pro- 
duce a  real  effect  upon  the  disease.  Medical 
men,  according  to  his  view,  have  been  afraid  of 
producing  a  poisonous  effect  with  their  drugs. 
With  him,  on  the  contrary,  the  whole  art  of 
medicine   lies    in    judicious    poisoning,    and    when 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


183 


the  case  is  serious,  his  remedies  are  heroic. 
Where,  in  epilepsy,  I  should  have  given  thirty- 
grain  doses  of  bromide  or  chloral  every  four 
hours,  he  would  give  two  drachms  every  three. 
No  doubt  it  will  seem  to  you  very  kill-or-cure, 
and  I  am  myself  afraid  that  a  succession  of 
coroners'  inquests  may  check  Cullingworth's 
career ;  but  hitherto  he  has  had  no  public 
scandal,  while  the  cases  which  he  has  brought 
back  to  life  have  been  numerous.  He  is  the 
most  fearless  fellow.  I  have  seen  him  pour 
opium  into  a  dysenteric  patient  until  my  hair 
bristled.  But  either  his  knowledge  or  his  luck 
always  brings  him  out  right. 

Then  there  are  other  cures  which  depend,  I 
think,  upon  his  own  personal  magnetism.  He  is 
so  robust  and  loud-voiced  and  hearty  that  a 
weak  nervous  patient  goes  away  from  him  re- 
charged with  vitality.  He  is  so  perfectly  con- 
fident that  he  can  cure  them,  that  he  makes 
them  perfectly  confident  that  they  can  be  cured  ; 
and  you  know  how  in  nervous  cases  the  mind 
reacts  upon  the  body.  If  he  chose  to  preserve 
crutches  and  sticks,  as  they  do  in  the  mediasval 
churches,    he    might,    I    am    sure,   paper    his    con- 


1 84 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


suiting  room  with  them.  A  favourite  device  of 
his  with  an  impressionable  patient  is  to  name 
the  exact  hour  of  their  cure.  ''  My  dear,"  he 
will  say,  swaying  some  girl  about  by  the  shoul- 
ders, with  his  nose  about  three  inches  from 
hers,  *'  you'll  feel  better  to-morrow  at  a  quarter 
to  ten,  and  at  twenty  past  you'll  be  as  well  as 
ever  you  were  in  your  life.  Now,  keep  your 
eye  on  the  clock,  and  see  if  I  am  not  right." 
Next  day,  as  likely  as  not,  her  mother  will  be 
in,  weeping  tears  of  joy  ;  and  another  miracle 
has  been  added  to  Cullingworth's  record.  It 
may  smell  of  quackery,  but  it  is  exceedingly 
useful  to  the    patient. 

Still  I  must  confess  that  there  is  nothing 
about  Cullingworth  which  jars  me  so  much  as 
the  low  view  which  he  takes  of  our  profession. 
I  can  never  reconcile  myself  to  his  ideas,  and 
yet  I  can  never  convert  him  to  mine  ;  so  there 
will  be  a  chasm  there  which  sooner  or  later  may 
open  to  divide  us  altogether.  He  will  not  ac- 
knowledge any  philanthropic  side  to  the  ques- 
tion. A  profession,  in  his  view,  is  a  means  of 
earning  a  livelihood,  and  the  doing  good  to  our 
fellow  mortals,  is  quite   a  secondary  one. 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  1 85 

"  Why  the  devil  should  we  do  all  the  good, 
Munro  ? "  he  shouts.  "Eh,  what?  A  butcher 
would  do  good  to  the  race,  would  he  not,  if 
he  served  his  chops  out  gratis  through  the  win- 
dow ?  He'd  be  a  real  benefactor ;  but  he  goes 
on  selling  them  at  a  shilling  the  pound  for  all 
that.  Take  the  case  of  a  doctor  who  devotes 
himself  to  sanitary  science.  He  flushes  out 
drains,  and  keeps  down  infection.  You  call  him 
a  philanthropist !  Well,  I  call  him  a  traitor. 
That's  it,  Munro,  a  traitor  and  a  renegade  !  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  a  congress  of  lawyers  for  sim- 
plifying the  law  and  discouraging  litigation  ? 
What  are  the  Medical  Association  and  the  Gen- 
eral Council,  and  all  these  bodies  for  ?  Eh, 
laddie  ?  For  encouraging  the  best  interests  of 
the  profession.  Do  you  suppose  they  do  that 
by  making  the  population  healthy  ?  It's  about 
time  we  had  a  mutiny  among  the  general  prac- 
titioners. If  I  had  the  use  of  half  the  funds 
which  the  Association  has,  I  should  spend  part 
of  them  in  drain-blocking,  and  the  rest  in  the 
cultivation  of  disease  germs,  and  the  contamina- 
tion of  drinking  water." 

Of    course,  I    told    him    that   his    views    were 
13 


l86  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

diabolical  ;  but,  especially  since  that  warning 
which  I  had  from  his  wife,  I  discount  every- 
thing that  he  says.  He  begins  in  earnest ;  but 
as  he  goes  on  the  humour  of  exaggeration  gets 
hold  of  him,  and  he  wands  up  with  things 
which  he  w^ould  never  uphold  in  cold  blood. 
However,  the  fact  remains  that  we  differ  widely 
in  our  views  of  professional  life,  and  I  fear  that 
we  may  come  to  grief   over   the  question. 

What  do  you  think  we  have  been  doing 
lately  ?  Building  a  stable — no  less.  Culling- 
worth  wanted  to  have  another  one  at  the  busi- 
ness place,  as  much,  I  think,  for  his  patients  as 
his  horses  ;  and,  in  his  audacious  w^ay,  he  deter- 
mined that  he  would  build  it  himself.  So  at  it 
we  went,  he,  I,  the  coachman,  Mrs.  Culling- 
\vorth,  and  the  coachman's  wife.  We  dug  foun- 
dations, got  bricks  in  by  the  cartload,  made  our 
own  mortar,  and  I  think  that  we  shall  end  by 
making  a  very  fair  job  of  it.  It's  not  quite  as 
flat-chested  as  we  could  wish  ;  and  I  think  that 
if  I  w^ere  a  horse  inside  it,  I  should  be  careful 
about  brushing  against  the  w^alls ;  but  still  it 
will  keep  the  wind  and  rain  out  when  it  is 
finished.      CuUingworth    talks  of  our    building    a 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  1 8/ 

new  house  for  ourselves  ;  but  as  we  have  three 
large  ones  already  there  does  not  seem  to  be 
any  pressing  need. 

Talking  about  horses,  we  had  no  end  of  a 
fuss  here  the  other  day.  Cullingworth  got  it 
into  his  head  that  he  wanted  a  first-class  riding 
horse ;  and  as  neither  of  the  carriage  ones 
would  satisfy  him,  he  commissioned  a  horse 
dealer  to  get  him  one.  The  man  told  us  of  a 
charger  which  one  of  the  officers  in  the  gar- 
rison was  trying  to  get  rid  of.  He  did  not  con- 
ceal the  fact  that  the  reason  why  he  wished  to 
sell  it  was  because  he  considered  it  to  be  dan- 
gerous ;  but,  he  added,  that  Captain  Lucas  had 
given  ^150  for  it,  and  was  prepared  to  sell  it  at 
seventy.  This  excited  Cullingworth,  and  he  or- 
dered the  creature  to  be  saddled  and  brought 
round.  It  was  a  beautiful  animal,  coal, black, 
with  a  magnificent  neck  and  shoulders,  but  with 
a  nasty  backward  tilt  to  its  ears,  and  an  un- 
pleasant way  of  looking  at  you.  The  horse 
dealer  said  that  our  yard  was  too  small  to  try 
the  creature  in  ;  but  Cullingworth  clambered  up 
upon  its  back  and  formally  took  possession  of  it 
by  lamming    it  between   the    ears  with    the  bone 


1 88  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

handle  of  his  whip.  Then  ensued  one  of  the 
most  lively  ten  minutes  that  I  can  remember. 
The  beast  justified  his  reputation  ;  but  Culling- 
worth,  although  he  was  no  horseman,  stuck  to 
him  like  a  limpet.  Backwards,  forwards,  side- 
ways, on  his  fore  feet,  on  his  hind  feet,  with  his 
back  curved,  with  his  back  sunk,  bucking  and 
kicking,  there  was  nothing  the  creature  did  not 
try.  Cullingworth  was  sitting  alternately  on  his 
mane  and  on  the  root  of  his  tail — never  by  any 
chance  in  the  saddle — he  had  lost  both  stirrups, 
and  his  knees  were  drawn  up  and  his  heels  dug 
into  the  creature's  ribs,  while  his  hands  clawed 
at  mane,  saddle,  or  ears,  whichever  he  saw  in 
front  of  him.  He  kept  his  whip,  however ;  and 
whenever  the  brute  eased  down,  Cullingworth 
lammed  him  once  more  with  the  bone  handle. 
His  idea,  I  suppose,  was  to  break  its  spirit,  but 
he  had  taken  a  larger  contract  than  he  could 
carry  through.  The  animal  bunched  his  four 
feet  together,  ducked  down  his  head,  arched  his 
back  like  a  yawning  cat,  and  gave  three  con- 
vulsive springs  into  the  air.  At  the  first,  Culling- 
worth's  knees  were  above  the  saddle  flaps,  at 
the    second    his   ankles    were    retaining    a  convul- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  1 89 

sive  grip,  at  the  third  he  flew  forward  like  a 
stone  out  of  a  sling,  narrowly  missed  the  cop- 
ing of  the  wall,  broke  with  his  head  the  iron 
bar  which  held  some  wire  netting,  and  toppled 
back  with  a  thud  into  the  yard.  Up  he  bounded 
with  the  blood  streaming  down  his  face,  and 
running  into  our  half-finished  stables  he  seized 
a  hatchet,  and  with  a  bellow  of  rage  rushed  at 
the  horse.  I  caught  him  by  the  coat  and  put 
on  a  fourteen-stone  drag,  while  the  horse  dealer 
(who  was  as  white  as  a  cheese)  ran  off  with  his 
horse  into  the  street.  CuUingworth  broke  away 
from  my  grip,  and  cursing  incoherentlj^  his  face 
slobbered  with  blood,  and  his  hatchet  wavinof 
over  his  head,  he  I'ushed  out  of  the  yard — the 
most  diabolical  looking  ruffian  you  can  imagine. 
However,  luckily  for  the  dealer,  he  had  got  a 
good  start,  and  CuUingworth  was  persuaded  to 
come  back  and  wash  his  face.  We  bound  up 
his  cut,  and  found  him  little  the  worse,  except 
in  his  temper.  But  for  me  he  would  most  cer- 
tainly have  paid  seventy  pounds  for  his  insane 
outburst  of  rage  against  the  animal. 

I  daresay  you  think    it    strange  that    I  should 
write    so    much    about    this    fellow   and    so    little 


igo 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


about  anybody  else  ;  but  the  fact  is,  that  I 
know  nobody  else,  and  that  my  whole  circle  is 
bounded  by  my  patients,  Cullingworth  and  his 
wife.  They  visit  nobody,  and  nobody  visits 
them.  My  living  with  them  brings  the  same 
taboo  from  my  brother  doctors  upon  my  head, 
although  I  have  never  done  an3'thing  unpro- 
fessional myself.  Who  should  I  see  in  the  street 
the  other  day  but  the  McFarlanes,  whom  you 
will  remember  at  Linlithsfow  ?  I  was  foolish 
enough  to  propose  to  Maimie  McFarlane  once, 
and  she  was  sensible  enou2:h  to  refuse  me. 
What  I  should  have  done  had  she  accepted  me, 
I  can't  imagine  ;  for  that  was  three  years  ago, 
and  I  have  more  ties  and  less  prospect  of  mar- 
riage now  than  then.  Well,  there's  no  use 
yearning  for  what  you  can't  have,  and  there's 
no  other  man  living  to  whom  I  would  speak 
about  the  matter  at  all  ;  but  life  is  a  deadly, 
lonely  thing  when  a  man  has  no  one  on  his  side 
but  himself.  Why  is  it  that  I  am  sitting  here 
in  the  moonlight  writing  to  you,  except  that  I 
am  craving  for  sympathy  and  fellowship?  I  get 
it  from  you,  too — as  much  as  one  friend  ever 
got  from  another — and    yet  there  are    some  sides 


Who  should   I   see  in  the  street  the  other  day  but  the  McFarlanes. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


191 


to  my  nature  with  which  neither  wife  nor  friend 
nor  any  one  else  can  share.  If  you  cut  your 
own  path,  you  must  expect  to  find  yourself 
alone  upon  it. 

Heigh  ho  !  it's  nearly  dawn,  and  I  as  wake- 
ful as  ever.  It  is  chilly,  and  I  have  draped  a 
blanket  round  me.  I've  heard  that  this  is  the 
favourite  hour  of  the  suicide,  and  I  see  that 
I've  been  tailing  off  in  the  direction  of  melan- 
choly myself.  Let  me  wind  up  on  a  lighter 
chord  by  quoting  Cullingworth's  latest  article. 
I  must  tell  you  that  he  is  still  inflamed  by  the 
idea  of  his  own  paper,  and  his  brain  is  in  full 
eruption,  sending  out  a  perpetual  stream  of 
libellous  paragraphs,  doggerel  poems,  social 
skits,  parodies,  and  articles.  He  brings  them  all 
to  me,  and  my  table  is  already  piled  with  them. 
Here  is  his  latest,  brought  up  to  my  room  after 
he  had  undressed.  It  was  the  outcome  of  some 
remarks  I  had  made  about  the  difficulty  which 
our  far-off  descendants  may  have  in  determining 
what  the  meaning  is  of  some  of  the  commonest 
objects  of  our  civilisation,  and  as  a  corollary 
how  careful  we  should  be  before  we  become 
dogmatic  about  the  old  Romans  or  Egyptians. 


IQ2 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


*'  At  the  third  annual  meeting-  of  the  New 
Guinea  Archaeological  Society  a  paper  was  read 
upon  recent  researches  on  the  supposed  site  of 
London,  together  with  some  observations  upon 
hollow  cylinders  in  use  among  the  ancient  Lon- 
doners. Several  examples  of  these  metallic  cylin- 
ders or  tubing-s  were  on  exhibition  in  the  hall, 
and  were  passed  round  for  inspection  among- 
the  audience.  The  learned  lecturer  prefaced  his 
remarks  by  observing  that  on  account  of  the 
enormous  interval  of  time  which  separated  them 
from  the  days  when  London  was  a  flourishing 
city,  it  behoved  them  to  be  very  guarded  in 
any  conclusions  to  which  they  might  come  as  to 
the  habits  of  the  inhabitants.  Recent  research 
appeared  to  have  satisfactorily  established  the 
fact  that  the  date  of  the  final  fall  of  London 
was  somewhat  later  than  that  of  the  erection 
of  the  Egvptian  Pyramids.  A  large  building 
had  recently  been  unearthed  near  the  dried-up 
bed  of  the  river  Thames  ;  and  there  could  be 
no  question  from  existing  records  that  this  was 
the  seat  of  the  law-making  council  among  the 
ancient  Britons — or  Anglicans,  as  they  were 
sometimes    called.      The    lecturer    proceeded    to 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  103 

point  out  that  the  bed  of  the  Thames  had  been 
tunnelled  under  by  a  monarch  named  Brunei, 
who  is  supposed  by  some  authorities  to  have 
succeeded  Alfred  the  Great.  The  open  spaces 
of  London,  he  went  on  to  remark,  must  have 
been  far  from  safe,  as  the  bones  of  lions,  tigers, 
and  other  extinct  forms  of  carnivora  had  been 
discovered  in  the  Regent's  Park.  Having  briefly 
referred  to  the  mysterious  structures  known  as 
'  pillar-boxes,'  which  are  scattered  thickly  over 
the  city,  and  which  are  either  religious  in  their 
origin,  or  else  may  be  taken  as  marking  the 
tombs  of  Anglican  chiefs,  the  lecturer  passed  on 
to  the  cylindrical  piping.  This  had  been  ex- 
plained by  the  Patagonian  school  as  being  a 
universal  system  of  lightning-conductors.  He 
(the  lecturer)  could  not  assent  to  this  theory. 
In  a  series  of  observations,  extending  over  sev- 
eral months,  he  had  discovered  the  important 
fact  that  these  lines  of  tubinor  if  followed  out, 
invariably  led  to  large  hollow  metallic  reservoirs 
w^hich  were  connected  with  furnaces.  No  one 
who  knew  how  addicted  the  ancient  Britons 
were  to  the  use  of  tobacco  could  doubt  what 
this    meant.      Evidently    large    quantities   of    the 


IQ4  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

herb  were  burned  in  the  central  chamber,  and 
the  aromatic  and  narcotic  vapour  was  carried 
through  the  tubes  to  the  house  of  every  citizen, 
so  that  he  might  inhale  it  at  will.  Having  il- 
lustrated  his  remarks  by  a  series  of  diagrams, 
the  lecturer  concluded  by  saying  that,  although 
true  science  was  invariably  cautious  and  undog- 
matic,  it  was  none  the  less  an  incontestable  fact 
that  so  much  light  had  been  thrown  upon  old 
London,  that  every  action  of  the  citizens'  daily 
life  was  known,  from  the  taking  of  a  tub  in  the 
morning,  until  after  a  draught  of  porter  he 
painted  himself  blue  before  retiring  to  rest." 

After  all,  I  daresay  this  explanation  of  the 
London  gas  pipes  is  not  more  absurd  than  some 
of  our  shots  about  the  Pyramids,  or  ideas  of 
life  among  the  Babvlonians. 

Well,  good-bye,  old  chap  ;  this  is  a  stupid 
inconsequential  letter,  but  life  has  been  more 
quiet  and  less  interesting  just  of  late.  I  may 
have  something  a  little  more  moving  for  my 
next. 


TX. 

I  The  Parade,  Bradfield,  2jrd  April,  1882. 

I  HAVE  some  recollection,  my  dear  Bertie, 
that  when  I  wrote  you  a  rambling  disconnected 
sort  of  letter  about  three  wrecks  ago,  I  wound 
up  by  saying  that  I  might  have  something 
more  interesting  to  tell  you  next  time.  Well, 
so  it  has  turned  out !  The  whole  game  is  up 
here,  and  I  am  off  upon  a  fresh  line  of  rails 
altogether.  Cullingworth  is  to  go  one  way  and 
I  another ;  and  yet  I  am  glad  to  say  that 
there  has  not  been  any  quarrel  between  us. 
As  usual,  I  have  begun  my  letter  at  the  end, 
but  I'll  work  up  to  it  more  deliberately  now, 
and  let  you   know  exactly  how  it    came   about. 

And  first  of  all,  a  thousand  thanks  for  your 
two  long  letters,  which  lie  before  me  as  I  write. 
There  is  little  enough  personal  news  in  them, 
but  I  can  quite  understand  that  the  quiet  happy 
routine  of  your  life  reels  off  very  smoothly  from 

195 


196 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


week  to  week.  On  the  other  hand,  you  give 
me  plenty  of  proof  of  that  inner  life  which  is 
to  me  so  very  much  more  interesting.  After  all, 
we  may  very  well  agree  to  differ.  You  think 
some  things  are  proved  which  I  don't  believe 
in.  You  think  some  things  edifying  which  do 
not  appear  to  me  to  be  so.  Well,  I  know  that 
you  are  perfectly  honest  in  your  belief.  I  am 
sure  you  give  me  credit  for  being  the  same. 
The  future  will  decide  which  of  us  is  right. 
The  survival  of  the  truest  is  a  constant  law,  I 
fancy,  though  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  it 
is  very  slow  in  action. 

You  make  a  mistake,  however,  in  assuming 
that  those  who  think  as  I  do  are  such  a  mis- 
erable minority.  The  whole  essence  of  our 
thought  is  independence  and  individual  judg- 
ment ;  so  that  we  don't  get  welded  into  single 
bodies  as  the  churches  do,  and  have  no  oppor- 
tunity of  testing  our  own  strength.  There  are, 
no  doubt,  all  shades  of  opinion  among  us  ;  but 
if  you  merely  include  those  who  in  their  private 
hearts  disbelieve  the  doctrines  usually  accepted, 
and  think  that  sectarian  churches  tend  to  evil 
rather  than  good,  I  fancy  that  the  figures  would 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  igy 

be  rather  surprising.  When  I  read  your  letter, 
I  made  a  list  of  all  those  men  with  whom  I 
ever  had  intimate  talk  upon  such  matters.  I  got 
seventeen  names,  with  four  orthodox.  Culling- 
worth  tried  and  got  twelve  names,  with  one  or- 
thodox. From  all  sides,  one  hears  that  every 
church  complains  of  the  absence  of  men  in  the 
congregations.  The  women  predominate  three 
to  one.  Is  it  that  women  are  more  earnest  than 
men  ?  I  think  it  is  quite  the  other  way.  But 
the  men  are  following  their  reason,  and  the 
women  their  emotion.  It  is  the  women  only 
who  keep  orthodoxy  alive. 

No,  you  mustn't  be  too  sure  of  that  major- 
ity of  yours.  Taking  the  scientific,  the  medical, 
the  professional  classes,  I  question  whether  it 
exists  at  all.  The  clergy,  busy  in  their  own 
limited  circles,  and  coming  in  contact  only  with 
those  who  agree  with  them,  have  not  realised 
how  largely  the  rising  generation  has  outgrown 
them.  And  (with  exceptions  like  yourself)  it  is 
not  the  most  lax,  but  the  best  of  the  younger 
men,  the  larger-brained  and  the  larger-hearted, 
who  have  shaken  themselves  most  clear  of  the 
old    theology.      They    cannot    abide    its    want   of 


198 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


charity,  it's  limitations  of  God's  favours,  its 
claims  for  a  special  Providence,  its  dogmatism 
about  what  seems  to  be  false,  its  conflict  with 
what  we  know  to  be  true.  We  know  that  man 
has  ascended,  not  descended ;  so  w^hat  is  the 
value  of  a  scheme  of  thought  which  depends 
upon  the  supposition  of  his  fall  ?  We  k7wzv  that 
the  world  was  not  made  in  six  days,  that  the 
sun  could  never  be  stopped  since  it  was  never 
moving,  and  that  no  man  ever  lived  three  days 
in  a  fish  ;  so  what  becomes  of  the  inspiration  of 
a  book  which  contains  such  statements?  ''Truth, 
though  it  crush  me  !  " 

There,  now,  you  see  what  comes  of  waving 
the  red  rag !  Let  me  make  a  concession  to  ap- 
pease you.  I  do  believe  that  Christianity  in  its 
different  forms  has  been  the  very  best  thing  for 
the  world  during  all  this  long  barbarous  epoch. 
Of  course,  it  has  been  the  best  thing,  else  Provi- 
dence would  not  have  permitted  it.  The  engineer 
knows  best  what  tools  to  use  in  strengthening 
his  own  machine.  But  when  you  say  that  this  is 
the  best  and  last  tool  which  will  be  used,  you  are 
laying  down  the  law  a  little  too  much. 

Now,  first  of  all,  I  want  to  tell  you  about  how 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


199 


the  practice  has  been  going  on.  The  week  after 
I  wrote  last  showed  a  slight  relapse.  I  only  took 
two  pounds.  But  on  the  next  I  took  a  sudden 
jump  up  to  three  pounds  seven  shillings,  and  this 
last  week  I  took  three  pounds  ten.  So  it  was 
steadily  creeping  up ;  and  I  really  thought  that 
I  saw  my  road  clear  in  front  of  me,  when  the 
bolt  suddenly  fell  from  the  blue.  There  were 
reasons,  however,  which  prevented  my  being 
very  disappointed  when  it  did  come  down ;  and 
these  I  must  make  clear  to  you. 

I  think  that  I  mentioned,  when  I  gave  you 
a  short  sketch  of  my  dear  old  mother,  that  she 
has  a  very  high  standard  of  family  honour.  She 
really  tries  to  live  up  to  the  Percy-Plantagenet 
blend  which  is  said  to  fiow  in  our  veins ;  and  it 
is  only  our  empty  pockets  which  prevent  her 
from  sailing  through  life,  like  the  grande  dame 
that  she  is,  throwing  largesse  to  right  and  left, 
with  her  head  in  the  air  and  her  soul  in  the 
clouds.  I  have  often  heard  her  say  (and  I  am 
quite  convinced  that  she  meant  it)  that  she  would 
far  rather  see  any  one  of  us  in  our  graves  than 
know  that  we  had  committed  a  dishonourable 
action.      Yes ;    for  all  her  softness  and  femininity, 


200  'fHE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

she  could  freeze  iron-hard  at  the  suspicion  of 
baseness ;  and  I  have  seen  the  blood  flush  from 
her  white  cap  to  her  lace  collar  when  she  has 
heard  of  an  act  of  meanness. 

Well,  she  had  heard  some  details  about  the 
Cullingworths  which  displeased  her  when  I  first 
knew  them.  Then  came  the  smash-up  at  Avon- 
mouth,  and  my  mother  liked  them  less  and  less. 
She  was  averse  to  my  joining  them  in  Bradfield, 
and  it  was  only  by  my  sudden  movement  at  the 
end  that  I  escaped  a  regular  prohibition.  When 
I  got  there,  the  very  first  question  she  asked 
(when  I  told  her  of  their  prosperit}^)  was  whether 
they  had  paid  their  Avonmouth  creditors.  I  was 
compelled  to  answer  that  they  had  not.  In  reply 
she  w^rote  imploring  me  to  come  away,  and  say- 
ing that,  poor  as  our  family  was,  none  of  them 
had  ever  fallen  so  low  as  to  enter  into  a  business 
partnership  with  a  man  of  unscrupulous  character 
and  doubtful  antecedents.  I  answered  that  Cul- 
lingworth  spoke  sometimes  of  paying  his  credi- 
tors, that  Mrs.  Cullingworth  was  in  favour  of  it 
also,  and  that  it  seemed  to  me  to  be  unreasonable 
to  expect  that  I  should  sacrifice  a  good  opening 
on    account    of    things  with  which   I  had  no  con- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  20I 

nection.  I  assured  her  that  if  Cullingworth  did 
anything  from  then  onwards  which  seemed  to 
me  dishonourable,  I  would  disassociate  myself 
from  him,  and  I  mentioned  that  I  had  already 
refused  to  adopt  some  of  his  professional  meth- 
ods. Well,  in  reply  to  this,  my  mother  wrote  a 
prett}^  violent  letter  about  what  she  thought  of 
Cullingworth,  which  led  to  another  from  me  de- 
fending him,  and  showing  that  there  were  some 
deep  and  noble  traits  in  his  character.  That  pro- 
duced another  still  more  outspoken  letter  from 
her ;  and  so  the  correspondence  went  on,  she 
attacking  and  I  defending,  until  a  serious  breach 
seemed  to  be  opening  between  us.  I  refrained 
from  writing  at  last,  not  out  of  ill  temper,  but 
because  I  thought  that  if  she  were  given  time 
she  would  cool  down,  and  take,  perhaps,  a  more 
reasonable  view  of  the  situation.  My  father,  from 
the  short  note  which  he  sent  me,  seemed  to  think 
the  whole  business  absolutely  irregular,  and  to 
refuse  to  believe  my  accounts  of  CuUingworth's 
practice  and  receipts.  This  double  opposition, 
from  the  very  people  whose  interests  had  really 
been  nearest  my  heart  in  the  whole  affair,  caused 

me    to  be  less    disappointed    than  I  should  other- 
14 


202  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

wise  have  been  when  it  all  came  to  an  end.  In 
fact,  I  was  quite  in  the  humour  to  finish  it  myself 
when  Fate  did  it  for  me. 

Now  about  the  CuUingworths.  Madam  is  as 
amiable  as  ever ;  and  yet  somehow,  unless  I  am 
deceiving  myself,  she  has  changed  somewhat  of 
late  in  her  feelings  towards  me.  I  have  turned 
upon  her  suddenly  more  than  once,  and  caught 
the  skirt  of  a  glance  which  was  little  less  than 
maliofnant.  In  one  or  two  small  matters  I  have 
also  detected  a  hardness  in  her  which  I  had  never 
observed  before.  Is  it  that  I  have  intruded  too 
much  into  their  family  life?  Have  I  come  between 
the  husband  and  the  wife?  Goodness  knows  I 
have  striven  with  all  my  little  stock  of  tact  to 
avoid  doing  so.  And  yet  I  have  often  felt  that 
my  position  was  a  false  one.  Perhaps  a  young 
man  attaches  too  much  importance  to  a  woman's 
glances  and  gestures.  He  wishes  to  assign  a 
definite  meaning  to  each,  when  they  may  be  only 
the  passing  caprice  of  the  moment.  Ah,  well,  I 
have  nothing  to  blame  myself  with  ;  and  in  any 
case  it  will  soon  be  all  over  now. 

And  then  I  have  seen  something  of  the  same 
sort  in  CuUingworth  ;    but    he  is  so  strange  a  be- 


I 


THE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS. 


203 


ing  that  I  never  attach  much  importance  to  his 
variations.  He  glares  at  me  like  an  angry  bull 
occasionally  ;  and  then  when  I  ask  him  what  is  the 
matter,  he  growls  out,  "  Oh,  nothing ! "  and  turns 
on  his  heel.  Then  at  other  times  he  is  so  cordial 
and  friendly  that  he  almost  overdoes  it,  and  I 
find  myself  wondering  whether  he  is  not  acting. 
It  must  seem  ungracious  to  you  that  I  should 
speak  so  of  a  man  who  has  been  my  benefactor ; 
and  it  seems  so  to  me  also,  but  still  that  is  the 
impression  which  he  leaves  upon  me  sometimes. 
It's  an  absurd  idea,  too;  for  what  possible  object 
could  his  wife  and  he  have  in  pretending  to  be 
amiable,  if  they  did  not  really  feel  so?  And  yet 
you  know  the  feeling  that  you  get  when  a  man 
smiles  with  his  lips  and  not  with  his  eyes. 

One  day  we  went  to  the  Central  Hotel  billiard- 
room  in  the  evening  to  play  a  match.  Our 
form  is  just  about  the  same,  and  we  should  have 
had  an  enjoyable  game  if  it  had  not  been  for 
that  queer  temper  of  his.  He  had  been  in  a 
sullen  humour  the  whole  day,  pretending  not  to 
hear  what  I  said  to  him,  or  else  giving  snappy 
answers,  and  looking  like  a  thunder-cloud.  I 
was    determined    not  to    have  a    row,    so    I    took 


204 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


no  notice  at  all  of  his  continual  provocations, 
which,  instead  of  pacifying  him,  seemed  to  en- 
courage him  to  become  more  offensive.  At  the 
end  of  the  match,  wanting  two  to  win,  I  put 
down  the  white  which  was  in  the  jaws  of  the 
pocket.  He  cried  out  that  this  was  bad  form.  I 
contended  that  it  was  folly  to  refrain  from  doing  it 
when  one  was  only  two  off  game,  and,  on  his  con- 
tinuing to  make  remarks,  I  appealed  to  the  marker, 
who  took  the  same  view  as  I  did.  This  opposition 
only  increased  his  anger,  and  he  suddenly  broke 
out  into  most  violent  language,  abusing  me  in 
unmeasured  terms.  I  said  to  him,  ''  If  you  have 
anything  to  say  to  me,  Cullingworth,  come  out 
into  the  street  and  say  it  there.  It's  a  caddish 
thing  to  speak  like  that  before  the  marker."  He 
lifted  his  cue,  and  I  thought  he  was  going  to 
strike  me  with  it ;  but  he  flung  it  clattering  on 
the  floor,  and  chucked  half  a  crown  to  the  manj 
When  we  got  out  in  the  street,  he  began  at  once 
in  as  offensive  a  tone  as  ever. 

"That's  enough,  Cullingworth,"  I  said.  '*  I've 
stood  already  rather  more  than  I  can  carry." 

We  were  in  the  bright  light  of  a  shop  win-' 
dow    at   that    moment.      He    looked    at    me,    and 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


205 


looked  a  second  time,  uncertain  what  to  do. 
At  any  moment  I  might  have  found  myself  in 
a  desperate  street  row  with  a  man  who  was  my 
medical  partner.  I  gave  no  provocation,  but 
kept  myself  keenl^^  on  the  alert.  Suddenly,  to 
my  relief,  he  buPk  out  laughing  (such  a  roar 
as  made  the  people  stop  on  the  other  side  of 
the  road),  and  passing  his  arm  through  mine,  he 
hurried  me  down  the  street. 

"  Devil  of  a  temper  you've  got,  Munro,"  said 
he.  "  By  Crums,  it's  hardly  safe  to  go  out  with 
you.  I  never  know  what  you're  going  to  do 
next.  Eh,  what?  You  mustn't  be  peppery  with 
me,  though ;  for  I  mean  well  towards  you,  as 
you'll  see  before  you  get  finished  with   me." 

I  have  told  you  this  trivial  little  scene, 
Bertie,  to  show  the  strange  way  in  which  Cul- 
lingworth  springs  quarrels  upon  me  ;  suddenly, 
without  the  slightest  possible  provocation,  taking 
a  most  offensive  tone,  and  then  when  he  sees  he 
has  goaded  me  to  the  edge  of  my  endurance, 
turning  the  whole  thing  to  chaff.  This  has  oc- 
curred again  and  again  recently  ;  and,  when 
coupled  with  the  change  in  Mrs.  Cullingworth's 
demeanour,    makes    one    feel   that   something    has 


2o6  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

happened  to  change  one's  relations.  What  that 
something  may  be,  I  give  you  my  word  that  I 
have  no  more  idea  than  you  have.  Between 
their  coldness,  however,  and  my  unpleasant  cor- 
respondence with  my  mother,  I  was  often  very 
sorry  that  I  had  not  taken  tls;  South  American 
liner.  ^e 

Cullingworth  is  preparing  for  the  issue  of 
our  new  paper.  He  has  carried  the  matter 
through  with  his  usual  energy,  but  he  doesn't 
know  enough  about  local  affairs  to  be  able  to 
write  about  them,  and  it  is  a  question  whether 
he  can  interest  the  people  here  in  anything  else. 
At  present  we  are  prepared  to  run  the  paper 
single-handed  ;  we  are  working  seven  hours  a 
day  at  the  practice  ;  we  are  building  a  stable  ; 
and  in  our  odd  hours  we  are  practising  at  our 
magnetic  ship-protector,  with  which  Culling- 
worth is  still  well  pleased,  though  he  wants  to 
get  it  more  perfect  before  submitting  it  to  the 
Admiralty. 

His  mind  runs  rather  on  naval  architecture 
at  present,  and  he  has  been  devising  an  ingeni- 
ous method  of  preventing  wooden-sided  vessels 
from  being   crippled    by  artillery  fire.     I  did  not 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


207 


think  much  of  his  magnetic  attractor,  because  it 
seemed  to  me  that  even  if  it  had  all  the  success 
that  he  claimed  for  it,  it  would  merely  have  the 
effect  of  substituting  some  other  metal  for  steel 
in  the  manufacture  of  shells.  This  new  project 
has,  however,  more  to  recommend  it.  This  is 
the  idea,  as  put  in  his  own  words  ;  and,  as  he 
has  been  speaking  of  little  else  for  the  last  two 
days,  I  ought  to  remember  them. 

"  If  you've  got  your  armour  there,  laddie,  it 
will  be  pierced,"  says  he.  "  Put  up  forty  feet 
thick  of  steel ;  and  I'll  build  a  gun  that  will 
knock  it  into  tooth-powder.  It  would  blow 
away,  and  set  the  folk  coughing  after  I  had  one 
shot  at  it.  But  you  can't  pierce  armour  which 
only  drops  after  the  shot  has  passed  through. 
What's  the  good  of  it  ?  Why  it  keeps  out  the 
water.  That's  the  main  thing,  after  all.  I  call 
it  the  Cullingworth  spring-shutter  screen.  Eh, 
what,  Munro?  I  wouldn't  take  a  quarter  of  a 
million  for  the  idea.  You  see  how  it  would 
work.  Spring  shutters  are  furled  all  along  the 
top  of  the  bulwarks  where  the  hammocks  used 
to  be.  They  are  in  sections,  three  feet  broad, 
we    will    say,    and    capable    when    let    down    of 


2o8  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

reaching  the  keel.  Very  well !  Enemy  sends  a 
shot  through  Section  A  of  the  side.  Section 
A  shutter  is  lowered.  Only  a  thin  film,  you 
see,  but  enough  to  form  a  temporary  plug. 
Enemy's  ram  knocks  in  sections  B,  C,  D  of  the 
side.  What  do  you  do?  Founder?  Not  a  bit  ; 
you  lower  sections  B,  C,  and  D  ol  Culling- 
worth's  spring-shutter  screen.  Or  you  knock  a 
hole  on  a  rock.  The  same  thing  again.  It's  a 
ludicrous  sight  to  see  a  big  ship  founder  when 
so  simple  a  precaution  would  absolutely  save  her. 
And  it's  equally  good  for  ironclads  also.  A 
shot  often  starts  their  plates  and  admits  water 
without  breaking  them.  Down  go  your  shutters, 
and  all  is  well." 

That's  his  idea,  and  he  is  busy  on  a  model 
made  out  of  the  steels  of  his  wife's  sta3's.  It 
sounds  plausible,  but  he  has  the  knack  of  mak- 
ing anything  plausible  when  he  is  allowed  to 
slap  his  hands  and  bellow. 

We  are  both  writinof  novels,  but  I  fear  that 
the  results  don't  bear  out  his  theory  that  a  man 
may  do  anything  which  he  sets  his  will  to.  I 
thought  mine  was  not  so  bad  (I  have  done  nine 
chapters),  but  Cullingworth    says    he    has   read  it 


i 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  209 

all  before,  and  that  it  is  much  too  conventional. 
We  must  rivet  the  attention  of  the  public  from 
the  start,  he  says.  Certainly,  his  own  is  cal- 
culated to  do  so,  for  it  seems  to  me  to  be  wild 
rubbish.  The  end  of  his  first  chapter  is  the 
only  tolerable  point  that  he  has  made.  A  fraud- 
ulent old  baronet  is  running  race-horses  on  the 
cross.  His  son,  who  is  just  coming  of  age,  is 
an  innocent  youth.  The  news  of  the  great  race 
of  the  year  has  just  been  received. 

"  Sir  Robert  tottered  into  the  room  with  dry 
lips  and  a  ghastly  face. 

*' '  My  poor  boy  ! '  he  cried.  '  Prepare  for  the 
worst ! ' 

"  '  Our  horse  has  lost !  *  cried  the  young  heir, 
springing  from  his  chair. 

"  The  old  man  threw  himself  in  agony  upon 
the  rug.  '  No,  no ! '  he  screamed.  '  It  has 
won  / '  " 

Most  of  it,  however,  is  poor  stuff,  and  we 
are  each  agreed  that  the  other  was  never  meant 
for  a  novelist. 

So  much  for  our  domestic  proceedings,  and 
all  these  little  details  which  you  say  you  like 
to  hear  of.     Now  I    must    tell   you    of   the   great 


2IO  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

big  change  in  my  affairs,  and  how  it  came 
about. 

I  have  told  you  about  the  strange,  sulky  be- 
haviour of  Cullingworth,  which  has  been  deepen- 
ing from  day  to  day.  Well,  it  seemed  to  reach 
a  climax  this  morning,  and  on  our  way  to  the 
rooms  I  could  hardly  get  a  word  out  of  him. 
The  place  was  fairly  crowded  with  patients,  but 
my  own  share  was  rather  below  the  average. 
When  I  had  finished  1  added  a  chapter  to  my 
novel,  and  waited  until  he  and  his  wife 
were  ready  for  the  daily  bag-carrying  home- 
wards. 

It  was  half-past  three  before  he  had  done.  I 
heard  him  stamp  out  into  the  passage,  and  a 
moment  later  he  came  banging  into  my  room. 
I  saw  in  an  instant  that  some  sort  of  a  crisis 
had  come. 

''  Munro,"  he  cried,  "  this  practice  is  going  to 
the  devil !  " 

*'Ah!"  said  I.     "How's  that?" 

"  It's  going  to  little  pieces,  Munro.  I've  been 
taking  figures,  and  I  know  what  I  am  talking 
about.  A  month  ago  I  was  seeing  six  hundred 
a    week.      Then  I    dropped    to   five  hundred  and 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


211 


eighty  ;  then  to  five-seventy-five ;  and  now  to  five- 
sixty.     What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

''  To  be  honest,  I  don't  think  much  of  it,"  I 
answered.  "  The  summer  is  coming  on.  You 
are  losing  all  your  coughs  and  colds  and  sore 
throats.  Every  practice  must  dwindle  at  this 
time  of  year." 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  said  he,  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room,  with  his  hands  thrust  into  his 
pockets,  and  his  great  shaggy  eyebrows  knotted 
together.  "  You  may  put  it  down  to  that,  but  I 
think  quite  differently  about  it." 

''What  do  you  put  it  down  to,  then?" 

"  To  you." 

"  How's  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

''  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  must  allow  that  it  is  a 
very  queer  coincidence — if  it  is  a  coincidence — 
that  from  the  day  when  your  plate  was  put  up 
my  practice  has  taken  a  turn  for  the  worse." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  think  it  was  cause 
and  effect,"  I  answered.  ''  How  do  you  think 
that  my  presence  could  have  hurt  you?" 

''  I'll  tell  you  frankly,  old  chap,"  said  he,  put- 
ting on  suddenly  that  sort  of  forced  smile  which 
always    seems  to  me  to  have  a  touch  of   a   sneer 


212  THE    STARK    MONRO   LETTERS. 

in  it.  "  You  see,  many  of  my  patients  are  simple 
country  folk,  half  imbecile  for  the  most  part,  but 
then  the  half-crown  of  an  imbecile  is  as  good  as 
any  other  half-crown.  They  come  to  my  door, 
and  they  see  two  names,  and  their  silly  jaws  be- 
gin to  drop,  and  they  say  to  each  other,  '  There's 
two  of  'em  here.  It's  Dr.  CuUingworth  we  want 
to  see,  but  if  we  go  in  we'll  be  shown  as  likely 
as  not  to  Dr.  Munro.'  So  it  ends  in  some  cases 
in  their  not  coming  at  all.  Then  there  are  the 
women.  Women  don't  care  a  toss  whether  you 
are  a  Solomon,  or  whether  you  are  hot  from  an 
asylum.  It's  all  personal  with  them.  You  fetch 
them,  or  you  don't  fetch  them.  I  know  how  to 
work  them,  but  they  won't  come  if  they  think 
they  are  going  to  be  turned  over  to  anybody 
else.  That's  what  I  put  the  falling  away  down 
to." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  that's  easily  set  right."  I 
marched  out  of  the  room  and  downstairs,  with 
both  CuUingworth  and  his  wife  behind  me.  Into 
the  yard  I  went,  and,  picking  up  a  big  hammer, 
I  started  for  the  front  door,  with  the  pair  still 
at  my  heels.  I  got  the  forked  end  of  the  ham- 
mer under    my  plate,  and  with  a   good   wrench  I 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  213 

brought  the  whole  thing  clattering  on  to  the  pave- 
ment. 

*'  That  won't  interfere  with  you  any  more," 
said   I. 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do  now?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  find  plenty  to  do.  Don't  you 
worry  about  that,"  I  answered. 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  all  rot,"  said  he,  picking  up 
the  plate.  "  Come  along  upstairs  and  let  us  see 
where  we  stand." 

We  filed  off  once  more,  he  leading  with  the 
huge  brass  "Dr.  Munro "  under  his  arm;  then 
the  little  woman,  and  then  this  rather  perturbed 
and  bemuddled  young  man.  He  and  his  wife 
sat  on  the  deal  table  in  the  consulting  room, 
like  a  hawk  and  a  turtle-dove  on  the  same  perch, 
while  I  leaned  against  the  mantelpiece  with  my 
hands  in  my  pockets.  Nothing  could  be  more  pro- 
saic and  informal ;  but  I  knew  very  well  that  I  was 
at  a  crisis  of  my  life.  Before,  it  was  only  a  choos- 
ing between  two  roads.  Now  my  main  track  had 
run  suddenly  to  nothing,  and  I  must  go  back  or 
find  a  bye-path. 

"  It's  this  way,  Cullingworth,"  said  I.  "  I  am 
very  much   obliged   to  you,  and  to  you,  Mrs.  Cul- 


214  ^^^    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

lingworth,  for  all  your  kindness  and  good  wishes, 
but  1  did  not  come  here  to  spoil  your  practice  ; 
and,  after  what  you  have  told  me,  it  is  quite  impos- 
sible for  me  to  work  with  you  any  more." 

*'  Well,  my  boy,"  said  he,  ''  I  am  inclined  myself 
to  think  that  we  should  do  better  apart ;  and  that's 
Hetty's  idea  also,  only  she  is  too  polite  to  say  so." 

"  It  is  a  time  for  plain  speaking,"  I  answered, 
"  and  we  may  as  well  thoroughly  understand  each 
other.  If  I  have  done  your  practice  any  harm,  I 
assure  you  that  I  am  heartily  sorry,  and  I  shall  do 
all  I  can  to  repair  it.     I  cannot  say  more." 

**  What  are  you  going  to  do,  then  ?  "  asked  Cul- 
linofworth. 

*'  I  shall  either  go  to  sea  or  else  start  a  practice 
on  my  own  account." 

"  But  you  have  no  money." 

'*  Neither  had  you  when  you  started." 

"  Ah,  that  was  different.  Still,  it  may  be  that 
you  are  right.     You'll  find  it  a  stiff  pull  at  first." 

"  Oh,  I  am  quite  prepared  for  that." 

''  Well,  you  know,  Munro,  I  feel  that  I  am  re- 
sponsible to  you  to  some  extent,  since  I  persuaded 
you  not  to  take  that  ship  the  other  day." 

**  It  was  a  pity,  but  it  can't  be  helped." 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


215 


*'  We  must  do  what  we  can  to  make  up.  Now, 
I  tell  you  what  I  am  prepared  to  do.  I  was  talk- 
ing about  it  with  Hetty  this  morning-,  and  she 
thought  as  I  did.  If  we  were  to  allow  you  one 
pound  a  week  until  you  got  your  legs  under  you, 
it  would  encourage  you  to  start  for  yourself,  and 
you  could  pay  it  back  as  soon  as  you  were  able." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  said  I.  **  If  you  would 
let  the  matter  stand  just  now,  I  should  like  just 
to  take  a  short  walk  by  myself,  and  to  think  it  all 
over." 

So  the  Cullingworths  did  their  bag-procession 
through  the  doctors'  quarter  alone  to-day,  and  I 
walked  to  the  park,  where  I  sat  down  on  one  of 
the  seats,  lit  a  cigar,  and  thought  the  whole  matter 
over.  I  was  down  on  my  luck  at  first ;  but  the 
balmy  air  and  the  smell  of  spring  and  the  budding 
flowers  soon  set  me  right  again.  I  began  my  last 
letter  among  the  stars,  and  I  am  inclined  to  finish 
this  one  among  the  flowers,  for  they  are  rare  com- 
panions when  one's  mind  is  troubled.  Most  things 
on  this  earth,  from  a  woman's  beauty  to  the  taste 
of  a  nectarine,  seem  to  be  the  various  baits  with 
which  Nature  lures  her  silly  gudgeons.  They 
shall  eat,  they  shall   propagate,  and  for  the  sake  of 


2i6  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

pleasing  themselves  they  shall  hurry  down  the 
road  which  has  been  laid  out  for  them.  But  there 
lurks  no  bribe  in  the  smell  and  beauty  of  the 
flower.     It's  charm  has  no  ulterior  motive. 

Well,  I  sat  down  there  and  brooded.  In  my 
heart  I  did  not  believe  that  Cullingworth  had 
taken  alarm  at  so  trifling  a  decrease.  That  could 
not  have  been  his  real  reason  for  driving  me  from 
the  practice.  He  had  found  me  in  the  way  in  his 
domestic  life,  no  doubt,  and  he  had  devised  this 
excuse  for  getting  rid  of  me.  Whatever  the  rea- 
son w^as,  it  was  sufficiently  plain  that  all  my  hopes 
of  building  up  a  surgical  practice,  which  should 
keep  parallel  wdth  his  medical  one,  were  for  ever 
at  an  end.  On  the  whole,  bearing  in  mind  my 
mother's  opposition,  and  the  continual  janglings 
which  we  had  had  during  the  last  few  weeks,  I 
was  not  very  sorry.  On  the  contrary,  a  sudden 
curious  little  thrill  of  happiness  took  me  somewhere 
about  the  back  of  the  midriff,  and,  as  a  drift  of 
rooks  passed  cawing  over  my  head,  I  began  caw- 
ing also  in  the  overflow  of  my  spirits. 

And  then  as  I  walked  back  I  considered  how 
far  I  could  avail  m3'self  of  this  money  from  Cul- 
lingworth.    It  was  not  much,  but  it  would  be  mad- 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  217 

ness  to  Start  without  it,  for  I  had  sent  home  the 
little  which  I  had  saved  at  Horton's.  I  had  not 
more  than  six  pounds  in  the  whole  world.  I  re- 
flected that  the  money  could  make  no  difference  to 
Cullingworth,  with  his  large  income,  while  it  made 
a  vast  one  to  me.  I  should  repay  him  in  a  year  or 
two  at  the  latest.  Perhaps  I  might  get  on  so  well 
as  to  be  able  to  dispense  with  it  almost  at  once. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  represen- 
tations of  Cullingworth  as  to  my  future  prospects 
in  Bradfield  which  had  made  me  refuse  the  excel- 
lent appointment  in  the  Decia.  I  need  not  there- 
fore have  any  scruples  at  accepting  some  tempo- 
rary assistance  from  his  hands.  On  my  return,  I 
told  him  that  I  had  decided  to  do  so,  and  thanked 
him  at  the  same  time  for  his  generosity. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  he.  ''  Hetty,  my 
dear,  get  a  bottle  of  fez  in,  and  we  shall  drink 
success  to  Munro's  new  venture." 

It  seemed    only    the    other    day    that    he    had 

been    drinking    my    entrance     into     partnership  ; 

and   here  we  were,  the  same    three,  sipping  good 

luck  to  my  exit  from  it !      I'm  afraid  our  second 

ceremony   was  on   both   sides  the   heartier  of  the 

two. 

15 


2i8  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

'*  I  must  decide  now  where  I  am  to  start,"  I 
remarked.  "  What  I  want  is  some  nice  little 
town  where  all  the  people  are  rich  and  ill." 

"  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  care  to  settle  here 
in  Bradfield?"    asked  CuUingworth. 

"  Well,  I  cannot  see  much  point  in  that.  If 
I  harmed  you  as  a  partner,  I  might  do  so  more 
as  a  rival.  If  I  succeeded  it  might  be  at  your 
expense." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  choose  your  town,  and  my 
offer  still  holds  good." 

We  hunted  out  an  atlas,  and  laid  the  map  of 
England  before  us  on  the  table.  Cities  and  vil- 
lages lay  beneath  me  as  thick  as  freckles,  and 
yet  there  was  nothing  to  lead  me  to  choose  one 
rather  than  another. 

"  I  think  it  should  be  some  place  large 
enough  to  give  you  plenty  of  room  for  expan- 
sion," said  he. 

"  Not  too  near  London,"  added  Mrs.  CuUing- 
worth. 

"  And,  above  all,  a  place  where  I  know  no- 
body," said  I.  "  I  can  rough  it  by  myself,  but 
I  can't  keep  up  appearances  before  visitors." 

''  What  do  you  say  to    Stockwell  ?  "    said  Cul- 


THE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS.  219 

lingworth,  putting  the   amber  of  his  pipe  upon  a 
town  within  thirty  miles  of  Bradfield. 

I  had  hardly  heard  of  the  place,  but  I  raised 
my  glass.  "  Well,  here's  to  Stockwell !  "  I 
cried ;  "  I  shall  go  there  to-morrow  morning 
and  prospect."  We  all  drank  the  toast  (as  you 
will  do  at  Lowell  when  you  read  this) ;  and  so 
it  is  arranged,  and  you  may  rely  upon  it  that  I 
shall  give  you  a  full  and  particular  account  of 
the  result. 


X. 

I  Cadogan  Terrace,  Birchespool,  21st  May,  1882. 

My  dear  old  chap,  things  have  been  happen- 
ing-, and  I  must  tell  you  all  about  it.  Sympathy 
is  a  strange  thing  ;  for  though  I  never  see  you, 
the  mere  fact  that  you  over  there  in  New  Eng- 
land are  keenly  interested  in  what  I  am  doing 
and  thinking,  makes  my  own  life  in  old  Eng- 
land very  much  more  interesting  to  me.  The 
thought  of  you  is  like  a  good  staff  in  my  right 
hand. 

The  unexpected  has  happened  so  continually 
in  my  life  that  it  has  ceased  to  deserve  the 
name.  You  remember  that  in  my  last  I  had 
received  my  dismissal,  and  was  on  the  eve  of 
starting  for  the  little  country  town  of  Stock- 
well  to  see  if  there  were  any  sign  of  a  possible 
practice  there.  Well,  in  the  morning,  before  I 
came  down    to  breakfast,    I    was    putting    one   or 

two  things  into  a  bag,  when  there  came  a  timid 

220 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  221 

knock  at  my  door,  and  there  was  Mrs.  CuUing- 
worth  in  her  dressing-jacket,  with  her  hair  down 
her  back. 

*'  Would  you  mind  coming  down  and  seeing 
James,  Dr.  Munro?"  said  she.  ''He  has  been 
very  strange  all  night,  and  I  am  afraid  that  he 
is  ill." 

Down  I  went,  and  found  CuUingworth  look- 
ing rather  red  in  the  face,  and  a  trifie  wild 
about  the  eyes.  He  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  with 
the  neck  of  his  nightgown  open,  and  an  acute 
angle  of  hairy  chest  exposed.  He  had  a  sheet 
of  paper,  a  pencil,  and  a  clinical  thermometer 
upon  the  coverlet  in   front  of  him. 

"  Deuced  interesting  thing,  Munro,"  said  he. 
''  Come  and  look  at  this  temperature  chart.  I've 
been  taking  it  every  quarter  of  an  hour  since 
I  couldn't  sleep,  and  it's  up  and  down  till  it 
looks  like  the  mountains  in  the  geography 
books.  We'll  have  some  drugs  in — eh,  what, 
Munro  ? — and  by  Crums,  we'll  revolutionise  all 
their  ideas  about  fevers.  I'll  write  a  pamphlet 
from  personal  experiment  that  will  make  all 
their  books  clean  out  of  date,  and  they'll  have 
to  tear  them   up   and   wrap   sandwiches  in  them." 


222  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

He  was  talking  in  the  rapid  slurring  way  of 
a  man  who  has  trouble  coming.  I  looked  at  his 
chart,  and  saw  that  he  was  over  102  degrees. 
His  pulse  rub-a-dubbed  under  my  fingers,  and 
his  skin  sent  a  glow  into  my  hand. 

**  Any  symptoms  ?  "  I  asked,  sitting  down  on 
the  side  of  his  bed. 

*'  Tongue  like  a  nutmeg-grater,"  said  he, 
thrusting  it  out.  "Frontal  headache,  renal  pains, 
no  appetite,  and  a  mouse  nibbling  inside  my  left 
elbow.     That's  as  far  as  we've  got  at   present." 

''  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  CuUingworth,"  said 
I.  "You  have  a  touch  of  rheumatic  fever,  and 
you  will  have  to  lie   by  for  a  bit." 

"  Lie  by  be  hanged  !  "  he  cried.  "  I've  got 
a  hundred  people  to  see  to-day.  My  boy,  I 
must  be  down  there  if  I  have  the  rattle  in  my 
throat.  I  didn't  build  up  a  practice  to  have  it 
ruined   by  a  few  ounces  of  lactic  acid." 

"  James  dear,  you  can  easily  build  up  another 
one,"  said  his  wife,  in  her  cooing  voice.  "  You 
must  do  what  Dr.  Munro  tells  you." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  you'll  want  looking  after, 
and  your  practice  will  want  looking  after,  and  I 
am  quite  ready   to   do    both.      But    I    won't   take 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  223 

the  responsibility  unless  jou  give  me  your  word 
that  you  will  do  what  you  are  told," 

''  If  I'm  to  have  any  doctoring  it  must  come 
from  you,  laddie,"  he  said  ;  ^'  for  if  I  was  to  turn 
my  toes  up  in  the  public  square,  there's  not  a 
man  here  who  would  do  more  than  sign  my 
certificate.  By  Crums,  they  might  get  the  salts 
and  oxalic  acid  mixed  up  if  they  came  to  treat 
me,  for  there's  no  love  lost  between  us.  But  I 
want  to  go  down  to  the  practice  all  the 
same." 

''  It's  out  of  the  question.  You  know  the 
sequel  of  this  complaint.  You'll  have  endo- 
carditis, embolism,  thrombosis,  metastatic  abscess- 
es— you  know  the  danger  as  well  as   I  do." 

He  sank  back  into  his  bed  lauo^hingf. 

"  I  take  my  complaints  one  at  a  time,  thank 
you,"  said  he.  "  I  wouldn't  be  so  greedy  as  to 
have  all  those — eh,  Munro,  what  ? — when  many 
another  poor  devil  hasn't  got  an  ache  to  his 
back."  The  four  posts  of  his  bed  quivered 
with  his  laughter.  **  Do  what  you  like,  laddie — 
but  I  sa}^,  mind,  if  anything  should  happen,  no 
tomfoolery  over  my  grave.  If  you  put  so  much 
as   a   stone   there,    by    Crums,    Munro,    I'll    come 


224  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

back  in  the  dead  of  the  night  and  plant  it  on 
the  pit  of  your  stomach." 

Nearly  three  weeks  passed  before  he  could 
set  his  foot  to  the  ground  again.  He  wasn't 
such  a  bad  patient,  after  all  ;  but  he  rather  com- 
plicated my  treatment  by  getting  in  all  sorts  of 
phials  and  powders,  and  trying  experiments 
upon  his  own  symptoms.  It  was  impossible  to 
keep  him  quiet,  and  our  only  means  of  retaining 
him  in  bed  was  to  allow  him  all  the  work  that 
he  could  do  there.  He  wrote  copiously,  built 
up  models  of  his  patent  screen,  and  banged  off 
pistols  at  his  magnetic  target,  which  he  had 
rigged  up  on  the  mantelpiece.  Nature  has 
given  him  a  constitution  of  steel,  however,  and 
he  shook  off  his  malady  more  quickly  and 
more  thoroughly  than  the  most  docile  of  suf- 
ferers. 

In  the  meantime,  Mrs.  Cullingworth  and  I  ran 
the  practice  together.  As  a  substitute  for  him  I 
was  a  dreadful  failure.  They  would  not  believe 
in  me  in  the  least.  I  felt  that  I  was  as  flat  as 
water  after  champagne.  I  could  not  address 
them  from  the  stairs,  nor  push  them  about,  nor 
prophesy   to    the    ansemic    women.     I    was    much 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


225 


too  solemn  and  demure  after  what  they  had  been 
accustomed  to.  However,  I  held  the  thing  to- 
gether as  best  I  could,  and  I  don't  think  that  he 
found  the  practice  much  the  worse  when  he  was 
able  to  take  it  over.  I  could  not  descend  to  what 
I  thought  was  unprofessional,  but  I  did  my  very 
best  to  keep  the  wheels  turning. 

Well,  I  know  that  I  am  a  shocking  bad  story- 
teller, but  I  just  try  to  get  things  as  near  the 
truth  as  I  can  manage  it.  If  I  only  knew  how 
to  colour  it  up,  I  could  make  some  of  this  better 
reading.  I  can  get  along  when  I  am  on  one  line, 
but  it  is  when  I  have  to  bring  in  a  second  line 
of  events  that  I  understand  what  C.  means  when 
he  says  that  I  will  never  be  able  to  keep  myself 
in  nibs  by  what  I  earn  in  literature. 

The  second  line  is  this,  that  I  had  written  to 
my  mother  on  the  same  night  that  I  wrote  to 
you  last,  telling  her  that  there  need  no  longer  be 
a  shadow  of  a  disagreement  between  us,  because 
everything  was  arranged,  and  I  was  going  to 
leave  CuUingworth  at  once.  Then  within  a  couple 
of  posts  I  had  to  write  again  and  announce  that 
my  departure  was  indefinitely  postponed,  and  that 
I   was  actually  doing    his  whole    practice.      Well, 


226  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

the  dear  old  lady  was  very  angry.  I  don't  sup- 
pose she  quite  understood  how  temporary  the 
necessity  was,  and  how  impossible  it  would  have 
been  to  leave  Cullingworth  in  the  lurch.  She 
was  silent  for  nearly  three  weeks,  and  then  she 
wrote  a  very  stinging  letter  (and  she  handles  her 
adjectives  most  deftly  when  she  likes).  She  went 
so  far  as  to  say  that  Cullingworth  was  a  "  bank- 
rupt swindler,"  and  that  I  had  dragged  the  fam- 
ily honour  in  the  dirt  by  my  prolonged  associa- 
tion with  him.  This  letter  came  on  the  morning 
of  the  very  last  day  that  my  patient  was  confined 
to  the  house.  When  I  returned  from  work  I 
found  him  sitting  in  his  dressing-gown  down- 
stairs. His  wife,  who  had  driven  home,  was  be- 
side him.  To  my  surprise,  when  I  congratulated 
him  on  being  fit  for  work  again,  his  manner 
(which  had  been  most  genial  during  his  illness) 
was  as  ungracious  as  before  our  last  explanation. 
His  wife,  too,  seemed  to  avoid  my  eye,  and  cocked 
her  chin  at  me  when  she  spoke. 

''  Yes,  I'll  take  it  over  to-morrow,"  said  he. 
"What  do  I  owe  you  for  looking  after  it?" 

"  Oh,  it  was  all  in  the  day's  work,"  said  I. 

**  Thank  you,  I  had  rather  have  strict  business," 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  22/ 

he  answered.  **  You  know  where  you  are  then, 
but  a  favour  is  a  thing  with  no  end  to  it.  What 
d'you  put  it  at?  " 

"  I  never  thought  about  it  in  that  light." 

"  Well,  think  about  it  now.  A  locum  would 
have  cost  me  four  guineas  a  week.  Four  fours 
sixteen.  Make  it  twenty.  Well,  I  promised  to 
allow  you  a  pound  a  week,  and  you  were  to  pay 
it  back.  I'll  put  twenty  pounds  to  your  credit 
account,  and  you'll  have  it  every  week  as  sure 
as  Saturday." 

''  Thank  you,"  said  I.  '*  If  you  are  so  anxious 
to  make  a  business  matter  of  it,  you  can  arrange 
it  so,"  I  could  not  make  out,  and  cannot  make  out 
now,  what  had  happened  to  freeze  them  up  so  ; 
but  I  supposed  that  they  had  been  talking  it  over, 
and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  settling 
down  too  much  upon  the  old  lines,  and  that  they 
must  remind  me  that  1  was  under  orders  to  quit. 
They  might  have  done  it  with  more  tact. 

To  cut  a  long  story  short,  on  the  very  day 
that  CuUingworth  was  able  to  resume  his  work 
I  started  off  for  Stockwcll,  taking  with  me  onl)-  a 
bag,  for  it  was  merely  a  prospecting  expedition, 
and   I  intended   to  return  for  my  luggage  if  I  saw 


228  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

reason  for  hope.  Alas!  there  was  not  the  faintest. 
The  sight  of  the  place  would  have  damped  the 
most  sanguine  man  that  ever  lived.  It  is  one  of 
those  picturesque  little  English  towns  with  a  his- 
tory and  little  else.  A  Roman  trench  and  a  Nor- 
man keep  are  its  principal  products.  But  to  me 
the  most  amazing  thing  about  it  was  the  cloud 
of  doctors  which  had  settled  upon  it.  A  double 
row  of  brass  plates  flanked  the  principal  street. 
Where  their  patients  came  from  1  could  not  im- 
agine, unless  they  practised  upon  each  other.  The 
host  of  the  "  Bull "  where  I  had  my  modest 
lunch  explained  the  mystery  to  some  extent  by 
saying  that,  as  there  was  pure  country  with  hardly 
a  hamlet  for  nearly  twelve  miles  in  every  direc- 
tion, it  was  in  these  scattered  farm-houses  that 
the  Stockwell  doctors  found  their  patients.  As  1 
chatted  with  him  a  middle-aged,  dusty-booted 
man  trudged  up  the  street.  *'  There's  Dr.  Adam," 
said  he.  *'  He's  only  a  new-comer,  but  they  say 
that  some  o'  these  days  he'll  be  starting  his  car- 
riage." "What  do  you  mean  by  a  new-comer?" 
I  asked.  "  Oh,  he's  scarcely  been  here  ten  years," 
said  the  landlord.  "Thank  you,"  said  I.  "Can 
you  tell  me  when  the  next  train  leaves  for  Brad- 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETIERS. 


229 


field?"  So  back  I  came,  rather  heavy  at  heart, 
and  having-  spent  ten  or  twelve  shillings  which  I 
could  ill  afford.  My  fruitless  journey  seemed  a 
small  thing,  however,  when  I  thought  of  the  ris- 
ing Stockwellite  with  his  ten  years  and  his  dusty 
boots.  I  can  trudge  along  a  path,  however  rough, 
if  it  will  but  lead  to  something  ;  but  may  kindly 
Fate  keep  me  out  of  all  cul-de-sacs ! 

The  Cullino^worths  did  not  receive  me  cor- 
dially  upon  my  return.  There  was  a  singular 
look  upon  both  their  faces  which  seemed  to  me 
to  mean  that  they  were  disappointed  at  this  hitch 
in  ofettinof  rid  of  me.  When  I  think  of  their  ab- 
solute  geniality  a  few  days  ago,  and  their  mark- 
edly reserved  manner  now,  I  can  make  no  sense 
out  of  it.  I  asked  Cullingworth  point  blank  what 
it  meant,  but  he  only  turned  it  off  with  a  forced 
laugh,  and  some  nonsense  about  my  thin  skin.  I 
think  that  I  am  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  take 
offence  where  none  is  meant ;  but  at  any  rate  I 
determined  to  end  the  matter  by  leaving  Brad- 
field  at  once.  It  had  struck  me,  during  my  jour- 
ney back  from  Stockwell,  that  Birchespool  would 
be  a  good  place ;  so  on  the  very  next  day  I 
started     off,    taking    my    luggage    with     me,    and 


230  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

bidding  a  final  good-bye  to  Cullingworth  and  his 
wife. 

'*  You  rely  upon  me,  laddie,"  said  C.  with  some- 
thing of  his  old  geniality,  as  we  shook  hands  on 
parting.  "  You  get  a  good  house  in  a  central 
position,  put  up  your  plate  and  hold  on  by  your 
toe-nails.  Charge  little  or  nothing  until  you  get 
a  connection,  and  none  of  your  professional  haw- 
dammy  or  you  are  a  broken  man.  I'll  see  that 
you  don't  stop  steaming  for  want  of  coal." 

So  with  that  comforting  assurance  I  left  them 
on  the  platform  of  the  Bradfield  station.  The 
words  seem  kind,  do  they  not?  and  yet  taking 
this  money  jars  every  nerve  in  my  body.  When 
I  find  that  I  can  live  on  bread  and  water  with- 
out it,  I  will  have  no  more  of  it.  But  to  do  with- 
out it  now  would  be  for  the  man  who  cannot 
swim  to  throw  off  his  life-belt. 

I  had  plenty  of  time  on  my  way  to  Birches- 
pool  to  reflect  upon  my  prospects  and  present 
situation.  My  baggage  consisted  of  a  large  brass- 
plate,  a  small  leather  trunk,  and  a  hat-box.  The 
plate  with  my  name  engraved  upon  it  was  bal- 
anced upon  the  rack  above  my  head.  In  my  box 
were  a  stethoscope,  several   medical  books,  a  sec- 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


231 


ond  pair  of  boots,  two  suits  of  clothes,  my  linen 
and  my  toilet  things.  With  this,  and  the  five 
pounds  eighteen  shillings  which  remain  in  my 
purse,  I  was  sallying  out  to  clear  standing-room, 
and  win  the  right  to  live  from  my  fellow-men. 
But  at  least  there  was  some  chance  of  permanency 
about  this ;  and  if  there  was  the  promise  of  pov- 
erty and  hardship,  there  was  also  that  of  freedom. 
I  should  have  no  Lady  Saltire  to  toss  up  her  chin 
because  I  had  my  own  view  of  things,  no  Culling- 
worth  to  fly  out  at  me  about  nothing.  1  would  be 
my  own — my  very  own.  I  capered  up  and  down 
the  carriage  at  the  thought.  After  all,  I  had 
everything  to  gain  and  nothing  in  the  whole  wide 
world  to  lose.  And  I  had  youth  and  strength  and 
energy,  and  the  whole  science  of  medicine  packed 
in  between  my  two  ears.  I  felt  as  exultant  as 
though  I  were  going  to  take  over  some  practice 
which  lay  ready  for  me. 

It  was  about  four  in  the  afternoon  when  I 
reached  Birchespool,  which  is  fifty-three  miles 
by  rail  from  Bradfield.  It  may  be  merely  a 
name  to  you,  and,  indeed,  until  I  set  foot  in  it 
I  knew  nothing  of  it  myself ;  but  I  can  tell 
you  now  that  it  has    a  population  of   a  hundred 


232  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

and  thirty  thousand  souls  (about  the  same  as 
Bradfield),  that  it  is  mildly  manufacturing-,  that 
it  is  within  an  hour's  journey  of  the  sea,  that 
it  has  an  aristocratic  western  suburb  with  a 
mineral  well,  and  that  the  country  round  is  ex- 
ceedingly beautiful.  It  is  small  enough  to  have 
a  character  of  its  own,  and  large  enough  for 
solitude,  which  is  always  the  great  charm  of 
a  city,  after  the  offensive  publicity  of  the  coun- 
try. 

When  I  turned  out  with  my  brass  plate,  my 
trunk,  and  my  hat-box  upon  the  Birchespool 
platform,  I  sat  down  and  wondered  what  my 
first  move  should  be.  Every  penny  was  going 
to  be  of  the  most  vital  importance  to  me,  and 
I  must  plan  things  within  the  compass  of  that 
tiny  purse.  As  I  sat  pondering,  there  came  a 
sight  of  interest,  for  I  heard  a  burst  of  cheer- 
ing with  the  blare  of  a  band  upon  the  other 
side  of  the  station,  and  then  the  pioneers  and 
leading  files  of  a  regiment  came  swinging  on 
to  the  platform.  They  wore  white  sun-hats, 
and  were  leaving  for  Malta,  in  anticipation  of 
war  in  Egypt.  They  were  young-  soldiers — 
English     by    the    white    facings — with    a    colonel 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


233 


whose    moustache    reached    his   shoulders,    and   a 

number  of   fresh-faced    long-legged   subalterns.     I 

chiefly  remember   one   of   the    colour-sergeants,  a 

man    of    immense    size    and    ferocious   face,    who 

leaned    upon    his    Martini,    with    two    little    white 

kittens    peeping    over    either    shoulder   from    the 

flaps  of    his   knapsack.     I    was    so    moved    at   the 

sight  of   these   youngsters  going  out  to   do  their 

best    for    the    dear    old     country,    that    I    sprang 

up    on    my     box,    took    off    my    hat,    and     gave 

them    three    cheers.       At    first    the    folk    on    my 

side    looked    at    me    in  their   bovine   fashion — like 

a  row  of    cows    over   a   wall.      At    the    second    a 

good    many    joined,    and    at    the    third    my    own 

voice  was  entirely    lost.     So  I    turned    to  go    my 

way,  and    the    soldier   laddies    to    go  theirs ;    and 

I    wondered    which     of    us    had     the    stiffest   and 

longest   fight    before  us. 

I   left  my  baggage  at   the    office,  and  jumped 

into    a   tramcar    which    was    passing    the     station, 

with    the    intention     of    looking    for   lodgings,    as 

I    judged   that     they    would    be    cheaper   than  an 

hotel.     The    conductor   interested    himself   in    my 

wants    in    that    personal    way     which    makes    me 

think   that    the    poorer    classes    in     England    are 
16 


234 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


one  of  the  kindliest  races  on  earth.  Policemen, 
postmen,  railway  guards,  busmen,  what  good 
helpful  fellows  they  all  are  !  This  one  reckoned 
the  whole  thing  out,  how  this  street  was  central 
but  dear,  and  the  other  was  out-of-the-way  but 
cheap,  and  finally  dropped  me  at  a  medium 
shabby-genteel  kind  of  thoroughfare  called  Cad- 
ogan  Terrace,  with  instructions  that  I  was  to 
go  down  there  and  see  how  I  liked  it. 

I  could  not  complain  of  a  limited  selection, 
for  a  "to  let"  or  *' apartments "  was  peeping 
out  of  every  second  window.  I  went  into  the 
first  attractive  house  that  I  saw,  and  inter- 
viewed the  rather  obtuse  and  grasping  old  lady 
who  owned  it.  A  sitting-bed-room  was  to  be 
had  for  thirteen  shillings  a  week.  As  I  had 
never  hired  rooms  before,  I  had  no  idea  whether 
this  was  cheap  or  dear ;  but  I  conclude  it  was 
the  latter,  since  on  my  raising  my  eyebrows  as 
an  experiment  she  instantly  came  down  to  ten 
shillings  and  sixpence.  I  tried  another  look  and 
an  exclamation  of  astonishment ;  but  as  she 
stood  firm,  I  gathered  that  I  had  touched  the 
bottom. 

**  Your  rooms   are  quite  clean?"    1    asked,  for 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  235 

there  was  a  wooden  panelling  which  suggested 
possibilities. 

"  Quite  clean,  sir." 

"  No  vermin  ?  " 

"  The  officers  of  the  garrison  come  some- 
times." 

This  took  some  thinking  out.  It  had  an  ugly 
sound,  but  I  gathered  that  she  meant  that 
there  could  be  no  question  about  the  cleanliness 
since  these  sjentlemen  were  satisfied.  So  the 
barsfain  was  struck,  and  I  ordered  tea  to  be 
ready  in  an  hour,  while  I  went  back  to  the 
station  to  fetch  up  my  luggage.  A  porter 
brought  it  up  for  eightpence  (saving  fourpence 
on  a  cab,  my  boy !)  and  so  I  found  myself  in 
the  heart  oi  Bircheppool  with  a  base  of  opera- 
tions secured.  I  looked  out  of  the  little  win- 
dow of  my  lodgings  at  the  reeking  pots  and 
grey  sloping  roofs,  with  a  spire  or  two  spurting 
up  among  them,  and  I  shook  my  teaspoon  de- 
fiantly at  them.  "  You've  got  to  conquer  me," 
said    I,    "  or    else    I'm     man    enough    to    conquer 

\'OU." 

Now,  you  would  hardly  expect  that  a  fellow 
would  have   an  adventure  on  his  very  first  night 


236  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

in  a  strange  town  ;  but  I  had — a  trivial  one,  it 
is  true,  but  fairly  exciting  while  it  lasted.  Cer- 
tainly it  reads  more  like  what  might  happen  to 
a  man  in  a  book,  but  you  may  take  it  from  me 
that  it  worked  out  just  as  I  set  it   down  here. 

When  I  had  finished  my  tea,  I  wrote  a  few 
letters — one  to  Cullingworth,  and  one  to  Horton. 
Then,  as  it  was  a  lovely  eveninsf,  I  determined 
to  stroll  out  and  see  what  sort  of  a  pkice  it  was 
upon  which  Fate  had  washed  me  up.  "  Best 
begin  as  you  mean  to  go  on,"  thought  I  ;  so 
I  donned  my  frock-coat,  put  on  my  carefully- 
brushed  top-hat,  and  sallied  forth  with  my  very 
respectable  metal-headed  walking  stick  in  my 
hand. 

I  walked  down  to  the  Park,  which  is  the 
chief  centre  of  the  place,  and  I  found  that  I 
liked  ever3^thing  I  saw  of  it.  It  was  a  lovely 
evening,  and  the  air  was  fresh  and  sweet.  I 
sat  down  and  listened  to  the  band  for  an  hour, 
watching  all  the  family  parties,  and  feeling  par- 
ticularly lonely.  Music  nearly  alwavs  puts  me 
into  the  minor  key  ;  so  there  came  a  time  when 
I  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  I  set  off  to  find 
my  way  back  to  my  lodgings.     On    the  whole,   I 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  237 

felt  that  Birchespool  was  a  place  in  which  a 
man  might   very  well  spend  a  happy  life. 

At  one  end  of  Cadogan  Terrace  (where  I  am 
lodging)  there  is  a  wide  open  space  where  sev- 
eral streets  meet.  In  the  centre  of  this  stands 
a  large  lamp  in  the  middle  of  a  broad  stone 
pedestal,  a  foot  or  so  high,  and  ten  or  twelve 
across.  Well,  as  I  strolled  along  I  saw  there 
was  something  going  on  round  this  lamp  post. 
A  crowd  of  people  had  gathered,  with  a  swirl 
in  the  centre.  I  was,  of  course,  absolutely  de- 
termined not  to  get  mixed  up  in  any  row ;  but 
I  could  not  help  pushing  my  way  through  the 
crowd  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

It  wasn't  a  pretty  sight.  A  woman,  pinched 
and  bedraggled,  with  a  baby  on  her  arm,  was 
being  knocked  about  by  a  burly  brute  of  a  fellow 
whom  I  judged  to  be  her  husband  from  the  way  in 
which  he  cherished  her.  He  was  one  of  those  red- 
faced,  dark-eyed  men  who  can  look  peculiarly 
malignant  w^hen  they  choose.  It  was  clear  that  he 
was  half  mad  with  drink,  and  that  she  had  been 
trying  to  lure  him  away  from  some  den.  I  was 
just  in  time  to  see  him  take  a  flying  kick  at  her, 
amid  cries  of  ''  Shame  !  "  from  the  crowd,  and  then 


238  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

lurch  forward  again,  with  the  evident  intention  of 
having  another,  the  mob  still  expostulating 
vaguely. 

If,  Bertie,  it  had  been  old  student  days,  I  should 
have  sailed  straight  in,  as  you  or  any  other  fellow 
would  have  done.  My  flesh  crept  with  my  loath- 
ing for  the  brute.  But  I  had  also  to  think  of  what 
I  was  and  where  I  was,  and  what  I  had  come  there 
to  do.  However,  there  are  some  things  which  a 
man  cannot  stand,  so  I  took  a  couple  of  steps  for- 
ward, put  my  hand  on  the  fellow's  shoulder,  and 
said  in  as  conciliatory  and  genial  a  voice  as  I  could 
muster :  ''  Come,  come,  my  lad  !  Pull  yourself 
together." 

Instead  of  "  pulling  himself  together,"  he  very 
nearly  knocked  me  asunder.  I  was  all  abroad  for 
an  instant.  He  had  turned  on  me  like  a  flash,  and 
had  struck  me  on  the  throat  just  under  the  chin, 
my  head  being  a  little  back  at  the  moment.  It 
made  me  swallow  once  or  twice,  I  can  tell  you. 
Sudden  as  the  blow  was,  I  had  countered,  in  the 
automatic  sort  of  way  that  a  man  who  knows  any- 
thing of  boxing  does.  It  was  only  from  the  elbow, 
with  no  body  behind  it,  but  it  served  to  stave  him 
off  for  the  moment,  while  I  was  making  inquiries 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


239 


about  my  windpipe.  Then  in  he  came  with  a 
rush ;  and  the  crowd  swarming  round  w^ith  shrieks 
of  delight,  we  were  pushed,  almost  locked  in  each 
other's  arms  on  to  that  big  pedestal  of  which  I 
have  spoken.  "  Go  it,  little  'un !  "  "  Give  him 
beans !  "  yelled  the  mob,  who  had  lost  all  sight  of 
the  origin  of  the  fray,  and  could  only  see  that  my 
opponent  was  two  inches  the  shorter  man.  So 
there,  my  dear  Bertie,  was  I,  within  a  few  hours 
of  my  entrance  into  this  town,  with  my  top-hat 
down  to  my  ears,  my  highly  professional  frock- 
coat,  and  my  kid  gloves,  fighting  some  low  bruiser 
on  a  pedestal  in  one  of  the  most  public  places,  in 
the  heart  of  a  yelling  and  hostile  mob !  I  ask  you 
whether  that  w^as  cruel  luck  or  not? 

Cullingworth  told  me  before  I  started  that 
Birchespool  was  a  lively  place.  For  the  next  few 
minutes  it  struck  me  as  the  liveliest  I  had  ever 
seen.  The  fellow  was  a  round  hand  hitter,  but  so 
strong  that  he  needed  watching.  A  round  blow 
is,  as  you  know,  more  dangerous  than  a  straight 
one  if  it  gets  home ;  for  the  angle  of  the  jaw,  the 
ear,  and  the  temple,  are  the  three  weakest  points 
which  you  present.  However,  I  took  particular 
care  that  my  man  did  not  get  home ;  but,  on  the 


240 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


other  hand,  I  fear  that  I  did  not  do  him  much 
harm  either.  He  bored  in  with  his  head  down ; 
and  1,  like  a  fool,  broke  my  knuckles  over  the  top 
of  his  impenetrable  skull.  Of  course,  theoretically 
I  should  either  have  stepped  back  and  tried  an 
undercut,  or  else  taken  him  into  chancery ;  but  I 
must  confess  to  feeling  flurried  and  rattled  from 
the  blow  I  had  had,  as  well  as  from  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  whole  affair.  However,  I  was  cooling 
down,  and  I  daresay  should  in  time  have  done 
something  rational,  when  the  affray  came  to  a  sud- 
den and  unexpected  end. 

This  was  from  the  impatience  and  excitement 
of  the  crowd.  The  folk  behind,  wishing  to  see  all 
that  was  going  on,  pushed  against  those  in  front, 
until  half-a-dozen  of  the  foremost  (with,  I  think,  a 
woman  among  them)  were  flung  right  up  against 
us.  One  of  these,  a  rough,  sailor-like  fellow  in  a 
jersey,  got  wedged  between  us ;  and  my  antago- 
nist, in  his  blind  rage,  got  one  of  his  swinging 
blows  home  upon   this  new-comer's  ear.     ''  What, 

you !"  yelled  the  sailor ;  and  in  an  instant  he 

had  taken  over  the  whole  contract,  and  was  at 
it  hammer  and  tongs  with  my  beauty.  I  grabbed 
my  stick,  which  had  fallen  among  the  crowd,  and 


THE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS.  241 

backed  my  way  out,  rather  dishevelled,  but  very 
glad  to  get  off  so  cheaply.  From  the  shouting 
which  I  could  hear  some  time  after  I  reached  the 
door  of  my  lodgings,  I  gathered  that  a  good 
battle  was  still  raging. 

You  see,  it  was  the  merest  piece  of  luck  in  the 
world  that  my  first  appearance  in  Birchespool  was 
not  in  the  dock  of  the  police-court.  I  should 
have  had  no  one  to  answer  for  me,  if  I  had  been 
arrested,  and  should  have  been  put  quite  on  a  level 
with  my  adversary.  I  daresay  you  think  I  made  a 
great  fool  of  myself,  but  I  should  like  to  know  how 
I  could  have  acted  otherwise.  The  only  thing 
that  I  feel  now  is  my  loneliness.  What  a  lucky 
fellow  you  are  with  your  wife,  and  child  ! 

After  all,  I  see  more  and  more  clearly  that  both 
men  and  women  are  incomplete,  fragmentary, 
mutilated  creatures,  as  long  as  they  are  single. 
Do  what  they  may  to  persuade  themselves  that 
their  state  is  the  happiest,  they  are  still  full  of 
vague  unrests,  of  dim,  ill-defined  dissatisfactions, 
of  a  tendency  to  narrow  ways  and  selfish  thoughts. 
Alone  each  is  a  half-made  being,  with  every  in- 
stinct and  feeling  yearning  for  its  missing  moiety. 
Together  they  form  a  complete  and    symmetrical 


242 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


whole,  the  minds  of  each  strongest  where  that 
of  the  other  needs  reinforcing.  I  often  think 
that  if  our  souls  survive  death  (and  I  believe 
they  do,  though  I  base  my  believe  on  very  dif- 
ferent grounds  from  yours),  every  male  soul  will 
have  a  female  one  attached  to  or  combined  with  it, 
to  round  it  off  and  give  it  symmetry.  So  thought 
the  old  Mormon,  you  remember,  who  used  it  as  an 
argument  for  his  creed.  *'  You  cannot  take  your 
railway  stocks  into  the  next  world  with  you,"  he 
said.  "  But  with  all  our  wives  and  children  we 
should  make  a  good  start  in  the  world  to  come." 

1  daresay  you  are  smiling  at  me,  as  you  read 
this,  from  the  vantage  ground  of  your  two  years 
of  matrimony.  It  will  be  long  before  I  shall  be 
able  to  put  my  views  into  practice. 

Well,  good-b3'e,  my  dear  old  chap  !  As  I  said 
at  the  beginning  of  my  letter,  the  very  thought  of 
you  is  good  for  me,  and  never  more  so  than  at  this 
moment,  when  I  am  alone  in  a  strange  city,  with 
very  dubious  prospects,  and  an  uncertain  future. 
We  differ  as  widely  as  the  poles,  you  and  I,  and 
have  done  ever  since  I  have  known  you.  You  are 
true  to  your  faith,  1  to  my  reason — you  to  your 
family  belief,  I  to  my  own  ideas ;  but  our  friend- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  243 

ship  shows  that  the  real  essentials  of  a  man,  and  his 
affinity  for  others,  depends  upon  quite  other  things 
than  views  on  abstract  questions.  Anyway,  I  can 
say  with  all  my  heart  that  I  wish  I  saw  you  with 
that  old  corncob  of  yours  between  your  teeth,  sit- 
ting in  that  ricketty  American-leather  armchair, 
with  the  villanous  lodging-house  antimacassar  over 
the  back  of  it.  It  is  good  of  you  to  tell  me  how 
interested  you  are  in  my  commonplace  adven- 
tures; though  if  1  had  not  known  that  you  were  so, 
you  may  be  sure  that  I  should  never  have  ventured 
to  inflict  any  of  them  upon  you.  My  future  is  now 
all  involved  in  obscurity,  but  it  is  obvious  that  the 
first  thing  I  must  do  is  to  find  a  fitting  house,  and 
my  second  to  cajole  the  landlord  into  letting  me 
enter  into  possession  of  it  without  any  prepay- 
ment.  To  that  I  will  turn  myself  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, and  you  shall  know  the  result.  Whom  should 
I  hear  from  the  other  day  but  Archie  McLagan  ? 
Of  course  it  was  a  begging  letter.  You  can  judge 
how  far  I  am  in  a  state  to  lose  money  ;  but  in  a 
hot  fit  I  sent  him  ten  shillings,  which  now,  in  my 
cold,  I  bitterly  regret.  With  every  good  wish  to 
you  and  yours,  including  your  town,  your  State, 
and  your  great  country,  yours  as  ever. 


XT. 

I  Oakley  Villas,  Birchespool,  2gth  May,  1S82. 
BiRCHESPOOL  is  really  a  delightful  place, 
dear  Bertie ;  and  I  ought  to  know  something 
about  it,  seeing  that  I  have  padded  a  good  hun- 
dred miles  through  its  streets  during  the  last 
seven  days.  Its  mineral  springs  used  to  be  quite 
the  mode  a  century  or  more  ago  ;  and  it  retains 
many  traces  of  its  aristocratic  past,  carrying  it  with 
a  certain  grace,  too,  as  an  emigre  countess  might 
wear  the  faded  dress  which  had  once  rustled  in 
Versailles.  I  forget  the  new  roaring  suburbs  with 
their  out-going  manufactures  and  their  incoming 
wealth,  and  I  live  in  the  queer  health-giving  old 
city  of  the  past.  The  wave  of  fashion  has  long 
passed  over  it,  but  a  deposit  of  dreary  respectabil- 
ity has  been  left  behind.  In  the  High  Street  you 
can  see  the  long  iron  extinguishers  upon  the  rail- 
ings where  the  link-boys  used  to  put  out  their 
torches,  instead  of  stamping  upon  them  or  slapping 

244 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


245 


them  on  the  pavement,  as  was  the  custom  in  less 
hig-h-toned  quarters.  There  are  the  very  high 
curbstones  too,  so  that  Lady  Teazle  or  Mrs.  Sneer- 
well  could  step  out  of  coach  or  sedan  chair  with- 
out soiling  her  dainty  satin  shoes.  It  brings  home 
to  me  what  an  unstable  chemical  compound  man 
is.  Here  are  the  stage  accessories  as  good  as  ever, 
while  the  players  have  all  split  up  into  hydrogen 
and  oxygen  and  nitrogen  and  carbon,  with 
traces  of  iron  and  silica  and  phosphorus.  A  tray 
full  of  chemicals  and  three  buckets  of  water, — 
there  is  the  raw  material  of  my  lady  in  the  se- 
dan chair !  It's  a  curious  double  picture,  if  one 
could  but  conjure  it  up.  On  the  one  side,  the 
high-born  bucks,  the  mincing  ladies,  the  scheming- 
courtiers,  pushing  and  planning,  and  striving 
every  one  of  them  to  attain  his  own  petty  object. 
Then  for  a  jump  of  a  hundred  years.  What  is  this 
in  the  corner  of  the  old  vault?  Margarine  and 
chlesterine,  carbonates,  sulphates,  and  ptomaines  ! 
We  turn  from  it  in  loathing,  and  as  we  go  we 
carry   with  us  that   from   which  we  fly. 

But,  mind  you,  Bertie,  I  have  a  very  high  re- 
spect for  the  human  body,  and  I  hold  that  it  has 
been   unduly  snubbed  and  maligned  by  divines  and 


246  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

theologians  :  "  our  gross  frames  "  and  ''  our  miser- 
able mortal  clay  "  are  phrases  which  to  my  mind 
partake  more  of  blasphemy  than  of  piety.  It  is  no 
compliment  to  the  Creator  to  depreciate  His 
handiwork.  Whatever  theory  or  belief  we  may 
hold  about  the  soul,  there  can,  I  suppose,  be  no 
doubt  that  the  body  is  immortal.  Matter  may  be 
transformed  (in  which  case  it  may  be  re-trans- 
formed), but  it  can  never  be  destroyed.  If  a  comet 
were  to  strike  this  globule  of  ours,  and  to  knock  it 
into  a  billion  fragments,  which  were  splashed  all 
over  the  solar  system — if  its  fiery  breath  were  to 
lick  up  the  earth's  surface  until  it  was  peeled  like 
an  orange,  still  at  the  end  of  a  hundred  millions  of 
years  every  tiniest  particle  of  our  bodies  would 
exist — in  other  forms  and  combinations,  it  is  true, 
but  still  those  very  atoms  which  now  form  the 
forefinger  which  traces  these  words.  So  the  child 
with  the  same  wooden  bricks  will  build  a  wall, 
then  strew  them  on  the  table ;  then  a  tower,  then 
strew  once  more,  and  so  ever  with  the  same 
bricks. 

But  then  our  individualit}^  ?  I  often  wonder 
wdiether  something  of  that  will  cling  to  our  atoms 
— whether  the  dust  of  Johnnie   Munro .  will  ever 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


247 


have  something  of  him  about  it,  and  be  separable 
from  that  of  Bertie  Svvanborough.  I  think  it  is 
possible  that  we  do  impress  ourselves  upon  the 
units  of  our  own  structure.  There  are  facts  which 
tend  to  show  that  every  tiny  organic  cell  of  which  a 
man  is  composed,  contains  in  its  microcosm  a  com- 
plete miniature  of  the  individual  of  which  it  forms 
a  part.  The  ovum  itself  from  which  we  are  all 
produced  is,  as  you  know,  too  small  to  be  trans- 
fixed upon  the  point  of  a  fine  needle ;  and  yet 
within  that  narrow  globe  lies  the  potentiality,  not 
only  for  reproducing  the  features  of  two  individ^ 
uals,  but  even  their  smallest  tricks  of  habit  and  of 
thought.  Well,  if  a  single  cell  contains  so  much, 
perhaps  a  single  molecule  and  atom  has  more  than 
we  think. 

Have  you  ever  had  any  personal  experience  of 
dermoid  cysts?  We  had  one  in  CuUingworth's 
practice  just  before  his  illness,  and  we  were  both 
much  excited  about  it.  They  seem  to  me  to  be 
one  of  those  wee  little  chinks  through  which  one 
mav  see  deep  into  Nature's  workings.  In  this  case 
the  fellow,  who  was  a  clerk  in  the  post  office,  came 
to  us  with  a  swelling  over  his  eyebrow.  We 
opened    it   under   the    impression   that  it    was   an 


248  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

abscess,  and  found  inside  some  hair  and  a  rudi- 
mentary jaw  with  teeth  in  it.  You  know  that  such 
cases  are  common  enough  in  surgerj^  and  that  no 
pathological  museum  is  without  an  example. 

But  what  are  we  to  understand  by  it  ?  So 
startling  a  phenomenon  must  have  a  deep  mean- 
ing. That  can  only  be,  I  think,  that  every  cell  in 
the  body  has  the  power  latent  in  it  by  which  it 
may  reproduce  the  whole  individual — and  that 
occasionally  under  some  special  circumstances — 
some  obscure  nervous  or  vascular  excitement — one 
of  these  microscopic  units  of  structure  actually 
does  make  a  clumsy  attempt  in  that  direction. 

But,  my  goodness,  where  have  I  got  to? 
All  this  comes  from  the  Birchespool  lamp-posts 
and  curb-stones.  And  I  sat  down  to  write  such 
a  practical  letter  too !  However,  I  give  you 
leave  to  be  as  dogmatic  and  didactic  as  you 
like  in  return.  Cullingworth  says  my  head  is 
like  a  bursting  capsule,  with  all  the  seeds  get- 
ting loose.  Poor  seed,  too,  1  fear,  but  some  of 
it  may  lodge  somewhere — or  not,  as  Fate  pleases. 

I  wrote  to  you  last  on  the  night  that  I 
reached  here.  Next  morning  I  .  set  to  work 
upon  my  task.     You  would  be  surprised  (at  least 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


249 


I  was)  to  see  how  practical  and  methodical  I 
can  be.  First  of  all  I  walked  down  to  the  post- 
office  and  I  bought  a  large  shilling  map  of  the 
town.  Then  back  I  came  and  pinned  this  out 
upon  the  lodging-house  table.  This  done,  I  set 
to  work  to  study  it,  and  to  arrange  a  series  of 
walks  by  which  I  should  pass  through  every 
street  of  the  place.  You  have  no  idea  what 
that  means  until  you  try  to  do  it.  I  used  to 
have  breakfast,  get  out  about  ten,  walk  till  one, 
have  a  cheap  luncheon  (I  can  do  well  on  three- 
pence), walk  till  four,  get  back  and  note  results. 
On  my  map  I  put  a  cross  for  every  empty  house 
and  a  circle  for  every  doctor.  So  at  the  end  of 
that  time  I  had  a  complete  chart  of  the  whole 
place,  and  could  see  at  a  glance  where  there 
was  a  possible  opening,  and  what  opposition 
there  was  at  each  point. 

In  the  meantime  I  had  enlisted  a  most  unex- 
pected ally.  On  the  second  evening  a  card  was 
solemnly  brought  up  by  the  landlady's  daughter 
from  the  lodger  who  occupied  the  room  below. 
On  it  was  inscribed  "  Captain  Whitehall "  ;  and 
then  underneath,  in  brackets,  '*  Armed  Trans- 
port." On  the  back  of  the  card  was  written, 
17 


250 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


"  Captain  Whitehall  (Armed  Transport)  presents 
his  compHments  to  Dr.  Munro,  and  would  be 
glad  of  his  company  to  supper  at  8-30."  To  this 
I  answered,  "  Dr.  Munro  presents  his  compli- 
ments to  Captain  Whitehall  (Armed  Transport), 
and  will  be  most  happy  to  accept  his  kind  in- 
vitation." What  "  iVrmed  Transport "  might 
mean  I  had  not  an  idea,  but  I  thought  it  well 
to  include  it,  as  he  seemed  so  particular  about 
it  himself. 

On  descending  I  found  a  curious-looking  fig- 
ure in  a  gray  dressing-gown  with  a  purple  cord. 
He  was  an  elderly  man— his  hair  not  quite 
white  yet,  but  well  past  mouse  colour.  His 
beard  and  moustache,  however,  were  of  a  yellow- 
ish brown,  and  his  face  all  puckered  and  shot 
with  wrinkles,  spare  and  yet  puffy,  with  hanging 
bags  under  his  singular  light  blue  eyes. 

"  By  God,  Dr.  Munro,  sir,"  said  he,  as  he 
shook  my  hand.  ''  I  take  it  as  very  kind  of  you 
that  3^ou  should  accept  an  informal  invitation.  I 
do,  sir,  by  God  !  " 

This  sentence  was,  as  it  proved,  a  very  typ 
ical  one,  for  he  nearly  always  began  and  ended 
each  with    an    oath,  while    the    centre    was,  as    a 


On  descending   1   found  a  curious-looking  figure  in  a  gray  dressing-gown. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


251 


rule,  remarkable  for  a  certain  suave  courtesy. 
So  regular  was  his  formula  that  I  may  omit  it 
and  you  suppose  it,  every  time  that  he  opened 
his  mouth.  A  dash  here  and  there  will  remind 
you. 

"  It's  been  my  practice,  Dr.  Munro,  sir,  to 
make  friends  with  my  neighbours  through  life ; 
and  some    strange    neighbours    I    have    had.      By 

,  sir,  humble  as  you  see  me,  I  have  sat  with 

a  general  on  my  right,  and  an  admiral  on  my 
left,  and  my  toes  up  against  a  British  ambassa- 
dor. That  was  when  1  commanded  the  armed 
transport  Hcgira  in  the  Black  Sea  in  '55.  Burst 
up  in  the  great  gale  in  Balaclava  Bay,  sir,  and 
not  as  much  left  as  you  could  pick  your  teeth 
with." 

There  was  a  strong  smell  of  whisky  in  the 
room,  and  an  uncorked  bottle  upon  the  mantel- 
piece. The  captain  himself  spoke  with  a  curious 
stutter,  which  I  put  down  at  first  to  a  natural 
defect ;  but  his  lurch  as  he  turned  back  to  his 
armchair  showed  me  that  he  had  had  as  much 
as  he  could  carry. 

''  Not  much  to  offer  you,  Dr.  Munro,  sir. 
The  hind  leg  of   a duck,  and    a   sailor's  wel- 


252 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


come.     Not    Royal    Navy,   sir,  though    I    have    a 

sight    better  manners    than    many    that    are. 

No,  sir,  I  fly  no  false  colours,  and  put  no  R.N. 
after    my    name  ;   but    I'm    the    Queen's    servant, 

by    !        No    mercantile     marine     about     me! 

Have  a  wet,  sir !  It's  the  right  stuff,  and 
I  have  drunk  enough  to  know  the  differ- 
ence." 

Well,  as  the  supper  progressed  I  warmed 
with  the  liquor  and  the  food,  and  I  told  m}^  new 
acquaintance  all  about  my  plans  and  intentions. 
I  didn't  realise  how  lonely  I  had  been  until  I 
found  the  pleasure  of  talking.  He  listened  to  it 
all  with  much  sympathy,  and  to  my  horror 
tossed  off  a  whole  tumbler-full  of  neat  whisky  to 
my  success.  So  enthusiastic  was  he  that  it  was 
all  I  could  do  to  prevent  him  from  draining  a 
second  one. 

"  You'll  do  it.  Dr.  Munro,  sir !  "  he  cried. 
"  I  know  a  man  when  I  see  one,  and  you'll  do 
it.     There's  my  hand,  sir!      I'm  with   you!     You 

needn't    be    ashamed    to    grasp    it,    for    by , 

though  I  say  it  myself,  it's  been  open  to  the 
poor  and  shut  to  a  bully  ever  since  I  could 
suck    milk.     Yes,    sir,    you'll    make    a   good   ship- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  253 

mate,    and     I'm glad    to    have    you    on    my 

poop." 

For  the  remainder  of  the  evening  his  fixed 
delusion  was  that  I  had  come  to  serve  under 
him  ;  and  he  read  me  long  rambling  lectures 
about  ship's  discipline,  still  always  addressing 
me  as  "  Dr.  Munro,  sir."  At  last,  however,  his 
conversation  became  unbearable — a  foul  young 
man  is  odious,  but  a  foul  old  one  is  surely  the 
most  sickening  thing  on  earth.  One  feels  that 
the  white  upon  the  hair,  like  that  upon  the 
mountain,  should  signify  a  height  attained.  I 
rose  and  bade  him  good-night,  with  a  last  im- 
pression of  him  leaning  back  in  his  dressing- 
gown,  a  sodden  cigar-end  in  the  corner  of  his 
mouth,  his  beard  all  slopped  with  whisky,  and 
his  half-glazed  eyes  looking  sideways  after  me 
with  the  leer  of  a  satyr.  I  had  to  go  into  the 
street  and  walk  up  and  down  for  half-an-hour 
before  I  felt  clean  enough  to  go  to  bed. 

Well,  I  wanted  to  see  no  more  of  my  neigh- 
bour, but  in  he  came  as  I  was  sitting  at  break- 
fast, smelling  like  a  bar-parlour,  with  stale  whisky 
oozing  at  every  pore. 

''  Good     morning,    Dr.    Munro,    sir,"    said    he, 


254 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


holding    out   a   twitching    hand.      "  I    compliment 

3'ou,    sir !       You    look    fresh, fresh,    and    me 

with  a  head  like  a  toy-shop.  We  had  a  pleasant, 
quiet  evening,   and    I    took    nothing   to    hurt,   but 

it     is     the relaxing     air     of     this     place    that 

settles  me.  I  can't  bear  up  against  it.  Last 
year  it  gave  me  the  horrors,  and  I  expect  it 
will  again.  You're  off  house-hunting,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

''  1  start  immediately  after  breakfast." 

"  I  take  a  cursed  interest  in  the  whole  thine. 

You   may  think  it  a impertinence,   but  that's 

the  way  I'm  made.  As  long  as  I  can  steam  I'll 
throw  a  rope  to  whoever  wants  a  tow.  I'll  tell 
you  what  I'll  do,  Dr.  Munro,  sir.  I'll  stand  on 
one  tack  if  you'll  stand  on  the  other,  and  I'll 
let  you  know  if  I  come  across  anything  that 
will  do." 

There  seemed  to  be  no  alternative  between  tak- 
ing him  with  me,  or  letting  him  go  alone  ;  so  I 
could  only  thank  him  and  let  him  have  carte 
blanche.  Ever}^  night  he  would  turn  up,  half- 
drunk  as  a  rule,  having,  I  believe,  walked  his  ten 
or  fifteen  miles  as  conscientiously  as  I  had  done. 
He    came  with    the  most    grotesque    suggestions. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


255 


Once  he  had  actually  entered  into  negotiations 
with  the  owner  of  a  huge  shop,  a  place  that  had 
been  a  draper's,  with  a  counter  about  sixty  feet 
long.  His  reason  was  that  he  knew  an  innkeeper 
who  had  done  very  well  a  little  further  down  on 
the  other  side.  Poor  old  *'  armed  transport " 
worked  so  hard  that  I  could  not  help  being 
touched  and  grateful ;  yet  I  longed  from  my  heart 
that  he  would  stop  for  he  was  a  most  unsavoury 
agent,  and  I  never  knew  what  extraordinary  step 
he  might  take  in  my  name.  He  introduced  me  to 
two  other  men,  one  of  them  a  singular-looking 
creature  named  Turpey,  who  was  struggling 
along  upon  a  wound-pension,  having,  when  only  a 
senior  midshipman,  lost  the  sight  of  one  eye  and 
the  use  of  one  arm  through  the  injuries  he  re- 
ceived at  some  unpronounceable  Pah  in  the  Maori 
war.  The  other  was  a  sad-faced  poetical-looking 
man,  of  good  birth  as  I  understood,  who  had  been 
disowned  by  his  family  on  the  occasion  of  his  elop- 
ing with  the  cook.  His  name  was  Carr,  and  his 
chief  peculiarity,  that  he  was  so  regular  in  his  ir- 
regularities that  he  could  always  tell  the  time  of 
day  by  the  state  of  befuddlement  that  he  was  in. 
He  would  cock  his  head,  think  over  his  own  symp- 


2-6  THE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS. 


toms,  and  then  give  you  the  hour  fairly  correctly. 
An  unusual  drink  would  disarrange  him,  however; 
and  if  you  forced  the  pace  in  the  morning,  he 
Id    undress    and    2:0    to    bed   about    tea-time, 


wou 

with  a  full  conviction  that  all  the  clocks  had  gone 
mad.  These  two  strange  waifs  w^ere  among  the 
craft  to  whom  old  Whitehall  had  in  his  own 
words,  "  thrown  a  rope  "  ;  and  long  after  I  had 
gone  to  bed  I  could  hear  the  clink  of  their  glasses, 
and  the  tapping  of  their  pipes  against  the  fender  in 
the  room  below. 

Well,  when  I  had  finished  my  empty-house-and- 
doctor  chart,  I  found  that  there  w^as  one  villa  to 
let,  which  undoubtedly  was  far  the  most  suitable 
for  my  purpose.  In  the  first  place  it  was  fairly 
cheap — forty  pounds,  or  fifty  w^ith  taxes.  The 
front  looked  well.  It  had  no  garden.  It  stood 
with  the  well-to-do  quarter  upon  the  one  side,  and 
the  poorer  upon  the  other.  Finally,  it  was  almost 
at  the  intersection  of  four  roads,  one  of  which  was 
a  main  artery  of  the  town.  Altogether,  if  I  had 
ordered  a  house  for  my  purpose  I  could  hardly 
have  got  anything  better,  and  I  was  thrilled  with 
apprehension  lest  some  one  should  get  before  me 
to  the  agent.     I   hurried  round  and  burst  into  the 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    Lfe,       .RS.  257 

office  with  a  precipitancy  which  rather  startled  the 
demure  clerk   inside. 

His  replies,  however,  were  reassuring.  The 
house  was  still  to  let.  It  was  not  quite  the  quarter 
yet,  but  1  could  enter  into  possession.  I  must  sign 
an  agreement  to  take  it  for  one  year,  and  it  was 
usual  to  pay  a  quarter's  rent  in  advance. 

I  don't  know  whether  I  turned  colour  a  little. 

"In  advance!"  I  said,  as  carelessly  as  I  could. 

''  It  is  usual." 

"  Or  references  ?  " 

*'  Well,  that  depends,  of  couse,  upon  the  refer- 
ences." 

"  Not  that  it  matters  much,"  said  I.  (Heaven 
forgive  me  !)  "  Still,  if  it  is  the  same  to  the  firm,  I 
ma}^  as  well  pay  by  the  quarter,  as  I  shall  do  after- 
wards." 

''What  names  did  you  propose  to  give?"  he 
asked. 

My  heart  gave  a  bound,  for  I  knew  that  all  was 
right.  My  uncle,  as  you  know,  won  his  knight- 
hood in  the  Artillery,  and  though  I  have  seen 
nothing  of  him,  I  knew  that  he  was  the  man  to  pull 
me  out  of  this  tight  corner. 

"  There's  my  uncle,  Sir  Alexander   Munro,  Lis- 


258  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

more  TTouse,  Dublin,"  said  I.  "  He  would  be 
happy  to  answer  any  inquir}^  and  so  w^ould  my 
friend   Dr.  Cullingworth  of  Bradfield." 

I  brought  him  down  with  both  barrels.  I  could 
see  it  by  his  eyes  and  the  curve  of  his  back. 

''  1  have  no  doubt  that  that  will  be  quite  satis- 
factory," said  he.  "  Perhaps  you  would  kindly 
sig"n  the  ao^reement." 

I  did  so,  and  drew  my  hind  foot  across  the 
Rubicon.  The  die  was  cast.  Come  what  might, 
I  Oakley  Villas  was  on  my  hand  for  a  twelve- 
month. 

"  Would  you  like  the  key  now  ?  " 

I  nearly  snatched  it  out  of  his  hands.  Then 
away  I  ran  to  take  possession  of  my  property. 
Never  shall  I  forget  my  feelings,  my  dear  Bertie, 
when  the  key  clicked  in  the  lock,  and  the  door 
flew  open.  It  was  my  own  house — all  my  very 
own !  I  shut  the  door  again,  the  noise  of  the 
street  died  down,  and  1  had,  in  that  empty,  dust- 
strewn  hall,  such  a  sense  of  soothing  privacy  as 
had  never  come  to  me  before.  In  all  my  life 
it  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  ever  stood  upon 
boards  which  were  not  paid  for  by  another. 

Then  I  proceeded  to  go    from   room  to    room 


THE    STARK   MUNRO   LETTERS.  259 

with  a  delicious  sense  of  exploration.  There 
were  two  upon  the  ground  floor,  sixteen  feet 
square  each,  and  I  saw  with  satisfaction  that  the 
wall  papers  were  in  fair  condition.  The  front  one 
would  make  a  consulting  room,  the  other  a  wait- 
inof  room,  thouo:h  I  did  not  care  to  reflect  who 
was  most  likely  to  do  the  waiting.  I  was  in  the 
highest  spirits,  and  did  a  step  dance  in  each  room 
as  an  olScial  inauguration. 

Then  down  a  winding  wooden  stair  to  the  base- 
ment, where  were  kitchen  and  scullery,  dimly  lit, 
and  asphalt-floored.  As  I  entered  the  latter  I 
stood  staring.  In  every  corner  piles  of  human 
jaws  were  grinning  at  me.  The  place  was  a  Gol- 
gotha !  In  that  half  light  the  effect  was  sepul- 
chral. But  as  I  approached  and  picked  up  one 
of  them  the  mystery  vanished.  They  were  of 
plaster  of-Paris,  and  were  the  leavings  evidently 
of  the  dentist,  who  had  been  the  last  tenant.  A 
more  welcome  sight  was  a  huge  wooden  dresser 
with  drawers  and  a  fine  cupboard  in  the  corner. 
It  only  wanted  a  table  and  a  chair  to  be  a  fur- 
nished room. 

Then  I  ascended  again  and  went  up  the  first 
flight  of  stairs.     There  were  two  other  good  sized 


26o  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

apartments  there.  One  should  be  my  bedroom, 
and  the  other  a  spare  room.  And  then  another 
flipfht  with  two  more.  One  for  the  servant,  when 
I  had  one,  and  the  other  for  a  guest.  From  the 
windows  I  had  a  view  of  the  undukiting  gray 
back  of  the  city,  with  the  bustle  of  green  tree 
tops.  It  was  a  windy  day,  and  the  clouds  were 
drifting  swiftly  across  the  heavens,  with  glimpses 
of  blue  between.  1  don't  know  how  it  was,  but 
as  I  stood  looking  through  the  grimy  panes  in 
the  empty  rooms  a  sudden  sense  of  my  own  in- 
dividuality and  of  my  responsibility  to  some 
higher  power  came  upon  me,  with  a  vividness 
which  was  overpowering.  Here  was  a  new  chap- 
ter of  my  life  about  to  be  opened.  What  was  to 
be  the  end  of  it?  I  had  strength,  I  had  gifts. 
What  was  I  going  to  do  with  them?  All  Ihe 
world,  the  street,  the  cabs,  the  houses,  seemed  to 
fall  away,  and  the  mite  of  a  figure  and  the  un- 
speakable Guide  of  the  Universe  were  for  an  in- 
stant face  to  face.  I  was  on  my  knees — hurled 
down  all  against  my  own  will,  as  it  were.  And 
even  then  I  could  find  no  words  to  say.  Only 
vague  yearnings  and  emotions  and  a  heartfelt  wish 
to  put    my  shoulder  to  the   great  wheel  of  good. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  261 

What  could  I  say  ?  Every  prayer  seemed  based 
on  the  idea  that  God  was  a  magnified  man — that 
He  needed  asking  and  praising  and  thanking. 
Should  the  cog  of  the  wheel  creak  praise  to  the 
Engineer?  Let  it  rather  cog  harder,  and  creak 
less.  Yet  I  did,  I  confess,  try  to  put  the  agita- 
tion of  my  soul  into  words.  I  meant  it  for  a 
prayer ;  but  when  I  considered  afterwards  the 
''supposing  thats  "  and  **  in  case  ofs  "  with  which 
it  was  sprinkled,  it  must  have  been  more  like  a 
legal  document.  And  yet  I  felt  soothed  and  hap- 
pier as  I  went  downstairs  again. 

I  tell  you  this,  Bertie,  because  if  I  put 
reason  above  emotion  I  would  not  have  you 
think  that  I  am'  not  open  to  attacks  of  the 
latter  also.  I  feel  that  what  I  say  about  re- 
ligion is  too  cold  and  academic.  I  feel  that 
there  should  be  something  warmer  and  sweeter 
and  more  comforting.  But  if  you  ask  me  to 
buy  this  at  the  price  of  making  myself  believe 
a  thing  to  be  true,  which  all  that  is  nearest  the 
divine  in  me  cries  out  against,  then  you  are 
selling  your  opiates  too  high.  I'm  a  volun- 
teer for  *'  God's  own  forlorn  hope,"  and  I'll 
clamber    up    the    breech    as    long   as    I    think     I 


262  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

can  see  the  flag  of  truth  waving  in  front  of 
me. 

Well,  my  next  two  cares  were  to  get  drugs 
and  furniture.  The  former  I  w^as  sure  that  I 
could  obtain  on  long  credit ;  while  the  latter 
I  was  absolutely  determined  not  to  get  into 
debt  over.  I  wrote  to  the  Apothecaries'  Com- 
pany, giving  the  names  of  Cullingworth  and  of 
my  father,  and  ordering  twelve  pounds'  worth 
of  tinctures,  infusions,  pills,  powders,  ointments, 
and  bottles.  Cullingworth  must,  I  should  think, 
have  been  one  of  their  very  largest  customers, 
so  I  knew  very  well  that  my  order  would  meet 
with  prompt  attention. 

There  remained  the  more  serious  matter  of 
the  furniture.  I  calculated  that  when  my  lodg- 
ings were  paid  for  I  might,  without  quite  empty- 
ing my  purse,  expend  four  pounds  upon  furniture 
— not  a  large  allowance  for  a  good  sized  villa. 
That  would  leave  me  a  few  shillings  to  go  on 
with,  and  before  they  w^ere  exhausted  CuUing- 
worth's  pound  would  come  in.  Those  pounds, 
however,  would  be  needed  for  the  rent,  so  I 
could  hardly  reckon  upon  them  at  all,  as  far  as 
my    immediate    wants    went.       I    found     in     the 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  263 

columns  of  the  Birchespool  Post  that  there  was  to 
be  a  sale  of  furniture  that  evening,  and  I  went 
down  to  the  auctioneer's  rooms,  accompanied, 
much  against  my  will,  by  Captain  Whitehall, 
who  was  very  drunk  and  affectionate. 

"  By  God,  Dr.  Munro,  sir,  I'm  the  man  that's 
going  to  stick  to  you.  I'm  only  an  old  sailor- 
man,  sir,  with  perhaps  more  liquor  than  sense  ; 
but  I'm  the  Queen's  servant,  and  touch  my  pen- 
sion every  quarter  day.  I  don't  claim  to  be 
R.N.,  but  I'm  not  merchant  service  either.  Here 
I  am,  rotting  in  lodgings,  but  by ,  Dr.  Mun- 
ro, sir,  I  carried  seven  thousand  stinking  Turks 
from  Varna  to  Balaclava  Bay.  I'm  with  you. 
Dr.  Munro,  and  we  put  this  thing  through  to- 
gether." 

We  came  to  the  auction  rooms  and  we  stood 
on  the  fringe  of  the  crowd  waiting  for  our 
chance.  Presently  up  went  a  very  neat  little 
table.  I  gave  a  nod  and  got  it  for  nine  shil- 
lings. Then  three  rather  striking  looking  chairs, 
black  wood  and  cane  bottoms.  Four  shillings 
each  I  gave  for  those.  Then  a  metal  umbrella- 
stand,  four  and  sixpence.  That  was  a  mere 
luxury,  but  I  was  warming  to  the  work.      A  job 


264 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


lot  of  curtains  all  tied  together  in  a  bundle  went 
up.  Somebody  bid  five  shillings.  The  auction- 
eer's eye  came  round  to  me,  and  1  nodded. 
Mine  again  for  five  and  sixpence.  Then  I 
bought  a  square  of  red  drugget  for  half-a-crown, 
a  small  iron  bed  for  nine  shillings,  three  water- 
colour  paintings,  *'  Spring,"  **  The  Banjo  Player," 
and  *'  Windsor  Castle,"  for  five  shillings  ;  a  tiny 
fender,  half-a-crown  ;  a  toilet  set,  five  shillings ; 
another  very  small  square-topped  table,  three 
and  sixpence.  Whenever  I  bid  for  anything, 
Whitehall  thrust  his  black-thorn  up  into  the 
air,  and  presently  I  found  him  doing  so  on  my 
behalf  when  I  had  no  intention  of  buying.  I 
narrowly  escaped  having  to  give  fourteen  and 
sixpence  for  a  stuffed   macaw  in  a  glass  case. 

*'  It  would  do  to  hang  in  your  hall.  Dr. 
Munro,  sir,"  said  he  when  I  remonstrated  with 
him. 

"  I  should  have  to  hang  myself  in  my  hall 
soon  if  I  spent  my  money  like  that,''  said  I. 
''  I've  grot  as  much  as  I  can  afford  now,  and  I 
must  stop." 

When  the  auction  was  over,  I  paid  my  bill 
and   had   my   goods  hoisted    on   to   a   trolly,    the 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


265 


porter  undertaking  to  deliver  them  for  two  shil- 
lings. I  found  that  I  had  over-estimated  the  cost 
of  furnishing,  for  the  total  expense  was  little 
more  than  three  pounds.  We  walked  round  to 
Oakley  Villa,  and  I  proudly  deposited  all  my 
goods  in  the  hall.  And  here  came  another 
extraordinary  example  of  the  kindness  of  the 
poorer  classes.  The  porter  when  I  had  paid 
him  went  out  to  his  trolly  and  returned  with  a 
huge  mat  of  oakum,  as  ugly  a  thing  as  I  have 
ever  set  eyes  upon.  This  he  laid  down  inside 
my  door,  and  then  without  a  word,  brushing 
aside  every  remonstrance  or  attempt  at  thanks, 
he  vanished  away  with  his  trolly  into  the 
night. 

Next  morning  I  came  round  to  my  house — 
my  house,  my  boy  ! — for  good  and  all,  after  pay- 
ing off  my  landlady.  Her  bill  came  to  more 
than  I  expected,  for  I  only  had  breakfast  and 
tea,  always  ''  dining  out "  as  I  majestically  ex- 
pressed it.  However,  it  was  a  relief  to  me  to 
get  it  settled,  and  to  go  round  with  my  box  to 
Oakley  Villas.  An  ironmonger  had  fixed  my 
plate    on    to    the    railings    for     half-a-crow^n    the 

evening    before,    and    there    it    was,    glittering    in 
18 


266  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

the  sun,  when  I  came  round.  It  made  me  quite 
shy  to  look  at  it,  and  I  slunk  into  the  house 
with  a  feeling  that  every  window  in  the  street 
had  a  face  in  it. 

But  once  inside,  there  was  so  much  to  be 
done  that  I  did  not  know  what  I  should  turn 
to  first.  I  bought  a  one-and-ninepenny  broom 
and  set  to  work.  You  notice  that  I  am  precise 
about  small  sums,  because  just  there  lies  the 
w^hole  key  of  the  situation.  In  the  yard  I  found 
a  zinc  pail  with  a  hole  in  it,  which  was  most 
useful,  for  by  its  aid  I  managed  to  carry  up  all 
the  jaws  with  which  my  kitchen  was  heaped. 
Then  with  my  new  broom,  my  coat  hung  on  a 
gas-bracket  and  my  shirt  sleev^es  turned  to  the 
elbow,  I  cleaned  out  the  lower  rooms  and  the 
hall,  brushing  the  refuse  into  the  yard.  After 
that  I  did  as  much  for  the  upper  floor,  with 
the  result  that  I  brought  several  square  yards 
of  dust  down  into  the  hall  again,  and  undid 
my  previous  cleaning.  This  was  disheartening, 
but  at  least  it  taught  me  to  begin  at  the  fur- 
thest point  in  future.  When  I  had  finished,  I 
was  as  hot  and  dirty  as  if  it  were  half-time  at 
a   football    match.     I    thought    of   our   tidy    char- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


267 


woman  at  home,  and  realised  what  splendid 
training  she  must  be  in. 

Then  came  the  arranging  of  the  furniture.  The 
hall  was  easily  managed,  for  the  planks  were  of 
a  dark  colour,  which  looked  well  of  themselves. 
My  oakum  mat  and  my  umbrella  stand  were  the 
only  things  in  it ;  but  I  bought  three  pegs  for 
sixpence,  and  fastened  them  up  at  the  side,  com- 
pleting the  effect  by  hanging  my  two  hats  upon 
them.  Finally,  as  the  expanse  of  bare  floor  was 
depressing,  I  fixed  one  of  my  curtains  about  half- 
way down  it,  draping  it  back,  so  that  it  had  a 
kind  of  oriental  look,  and  excited  a  vague  idea 
of  suites  of  apartments  beyond.  It  was  a  fine 
effect,  and  I  was  exceedingly  proud  of  it. 

From  that  I  turned  to  the  most  important 
point  of  all — the  arrangement  of  my  consulting 
room.  My  experience  with  CuUingworth  had 
taught  me  one  thing  at  least, — that  patients  care 
nothing  about  your  house  if  they  only  think  that 
you  can  cure  them.  Once  get  that  idea  into 
their  heads,  and  you  may  live  in  a  vacant  stall 
in  a  stable  and  write  your  prescriptions  on  the 
manger.  Still,  as  this  was,  for  many  a  day  to 
come,  to  be  the  only  furnished  room  in  my  house, 


268  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

it  was  worth  a  little  planning-  to  get  it  set  out  to 
the  best  advantage. 

My  red  drugget  I  laid  out  in  the  centre,  and 
fastened  it  down  with  brass-headed  nails.  It 
looked  much  smaller  than  I  had  hoped, — a  little 
red  island  on  an  ocean  of  deal  board,  or  a  post- 
age stamp  in  the  middle  of  an  envelope.  In  the 
centre  of  it  I  placed  my  table,  with  three  med- 
ical works  on  one  side  of  it,  and  my  stethoscope 
and  dresser's  case  upon  the  other.  One  chair 
went  with  the  table,  of  course ;  and  then  I  spent 
the  next  ten  minutes  in  trying  to  determine 
whether  the  other  two  looked  better  together — a 
dense  block  of  chairs,  as  it  were — or  scattered  so 
that  the  casual  glance  would  get  the  idea  of  nu- 
merous chairs.  I  placed  them  finally  one  on  the 
right,  and  one  in  front  of  the  table.  Then  I  put 
down  my  fender,  and  nailed  "  Spring,"  "  The 
Banjo  Players,"  and  "  Windsor  Castle "  on  to 
three  of  the  walls,  with  the  mental  promise  that 
my  first  spare  half-crown  should  buy  a  picture 
for  the  fourth.  In  the  window  I  placed  my  little 
square  table,  and  balanced  upon  it  a  photograph 
with  an  ivory  mounting  and  a  nice  plush  frame 
which    I    had    brought    in    my  trunk.      Finally,  I 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  269 

found  a  pair  of  dark  brown  curtains  among  the 
job  lot  which  I  had  bought  at  the  sale,  and  these 
I  put  up  and  drew  pretty  close  together,  so  that 
a  subdued  light  came  into  the  room,  which  toned 
everything  down,  and  made  the  dark  corners 
look  furnished.  When  I  had  finished  I  really  do 
not  believe  that  any  one  could  have  guessed  that 
the  total  contents  of  that  room  came  to  about 
thirty  shillings. 

Then  I  pulled  my  iron  bed  upstairs  and  fixed 
it  in  the  room  which  I  had  from  the  first  deter- 
mined upon  as  my  bedchamber.  I  found  an  old 
packing  case  in  the  yard — a  relic  of  my  predeces- 
sor's removal — and  this  made  a  very  good  wash- 
hand  stand  for  my  basin  and  jug.  When  it  was 
all  fixed  up  I  walked,  swelling  with  pride,  through 
my  own  chambers,  giving  a  touch  here  and  a 
touch  there  until  I  had  it  perfect.  I  wish  my 
mother  could  see  it — or,  on  second  thoughts,  I 
don't;  for  I  know  that  her  first  act  \vould  be  to 
prepare  gallons  of  hot  water,  and  to  holystone 
the  whole  place  down,  from  garret  to  cellar — 
and  I  know  by  my  own  small  experience  what 
that  means. 

Well,  that's    as  far  as  I've   got  as  yet.      What 


270 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


trivial,  trivial  stuff,  interesting-  to  hardly  a  soul 
under  heaven,  save  only  about  three !  Yet  it 
pleases  me  to  write  as  long  as  I  have  your  assur- 
ance that  it  pleases  you  to  read.  Pray,  give  my 
kindest  remembrances  to  your  wife,  and  to  Camel- 
ford  also,  if  he  should  happen  to  come  your  way. 
He  was  on  the  Mississippi  when  last  I  heard. 


XTI. 

I  Oakley  Villas,  Birchespool,  ^th  June,  1882. 
When  I  had  made  all  those  dispositions  which 
I  described  with  such  painful  prolixity  in  my  last 
letter,  my  dear  Bertie,  I  sat  down  on  my  study 
chair,  and  I  laid  out  the  whole  of  my  worldly 
wealth  upon  the  table  in  front  of  me.  I  was 
startled  when  I  looked  at  it, — three  half-crowns, 
a  florin,  and  four  sixpences,  or  eleven  and  six- 
pence in  all.  I  had  expected  to  hear  from  Cul- 
lingworth  before  this ;  but  at  least  he  was  always 
there,  a  trusty  friend,  at  my  back.  Immediately 
upon  engaging  the  house  I  had  written  him  a 
very  full  letter,  telling  him  that  I  had  committed 
myself  to  keeping  it  for  one  year,  but  assuring 
him  that  I  was  quite  convinced  that  with  the  help 
which  he  had  promised  me  I  should  be  able  to 
hold  my  own  easily.  I  described  the  favourable 
position  of  the  house,  and  gave  him  every  detail 
of  the  rent  and  neighbourhood.    That  letter  would, 

271 


2/2 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


I  was  sure,  bring  a  reply  from  him  which  would 
contain  my  weekly  remittance.  One  thing  I  had, 
above  all,  determined  upon.  That  was  that,  what- 
ever hardships  might  lie  before  me,  I  would  fight 
through  them  without  help  from  home.  I  knew, 
of  course,  that  my  mother  would  have  sold  every- 
thing down  to  her  gold  eye-glasses  to  help  me, 
and  that  no  thought  of  our  recent  disagreement 
would  have  weighed  with  her  for  an  instant ;  but 
still  a  man  has  his  feelings,  you  know,  and  I  did 
not  propose  to  act  against  her  judgment  and  then 
run  howling  for  help. 

I  sat  in  my  house  all  day,  with  that  ever- 
present  sense  of  privacy  and  novelty  which  had 
thrilled  me  when  I  first  shut  the  street  door  be- 
hind me.  At  evening  I  sallied  out  and  bought  a 
loaf  of  bread,  half  a  pound  of  tea  (''sweepings," 
they  call  it,  and  it  cost  eightpence),  a  tin  kettle 
(fivepence),  a  pound  of  sugar,  a  tin  of  Swiss  milk, 
and  a  tin  of  American  potted  meat.  I  had  often 
heard  my  mother  groan  over  the  expenses  of 
housekeeping,  and  now  I  began  to  understand 
what  she  meant.  Two  and  ninepence  went  like  a 
flash,  but  at  least  I  had  enough  to  keep  myself 
going  for  some  days. 


I 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  273 

There  was  a  convenient  gas  bracket  in  the 
back  room.  I  hammered  a  splinter  of  wood  into 
the  wall  above  it,  and  so  made  an  arm  upon 
which  I  could  hang  my  little  kettle  and  boil  it  over 
the  flame.  The  attraction  of  the  idea  was  that 
there  was  no  immediate  expense,  and  many  things 
would  have  happened  before  I  was  called  upon 
to  pay  the  gas  bill.  The  back  room  was  con- 
verted then  into  both  kitchen  and  diningf  room. 
The  sole  furniture  consisted  of  my  box,  which 
served  both  as  cupboard,  as  table,  and  as  chair.  My 
eatables  were  all  kept  inside,  and  when  I  wished 
for  a  meal  I  had  only  to  pick  them  out  and  lay 
them  on  the  lid,  leaving  room  for  myself  to  sit 
beside  them. 

It  was  only  when  I  went  to  my  bedroom 
that  I  realised  the  oversights  which  1  had  made 
in  my  furnishing.  There  was  no  mattress  and 
no  pillow  or  bed-clothes.  My  mind  had  been  so 
centred  upon  the  essentials  for  the  practice, 
that  I  had  never  given  a  thought  to  my  own 
private  wants.  I  slept  that  night  upon  the  irons 
of  my  bed,  and  rose  up  like  St.  Lawrence  from 
the  gridiron.  My  second  suit  of  clothes  with 
Bristowe's    "  Principles    of    Medicine  "    made   an 


274 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


excellent  pillow,  while  on  a  warm  June  night  a 
man  can  do  well  wrapped  in  his  overcoat.  I 
had  no  fancy  for  second-hand  bed-clothes,  and 
determined  until  I  could  buy  some  new  ones,  to 
make  myself  a  straw  pillow,  and  to  put  on  both 
my  suits  of  clothes  on  the  colder  nights.  Two 
days  later,  however,  the  problem  was  solved  in 
more  luxurious  style  by  the  arrival  of  a  big 
brown  tin  box  from  my  mother,  which  was  as 
welcome  to  me,  and  as  much  of  a  windfall,  as 
the  Spanish  wreck  to  Robinson  Crusoe.  There 
were  too  pairs  of  thick  blankets,  two  sheets,  a 
counterpane,  a  pillow,  a  camp-stool,  two  stuffed 
bears'  paws  (of  all  things  in  this  world  !),  two 
terra-cotta  vases,  a  tea-cosy,  two  pictures  in 
frames,  several  books,  an  ornamental  ink-pot,  and 
a  number  of  antimacassars  and  coloured  table- 
cloths. It  is  not  until  you  own  a  table  with  a 
deal  top  and  mahogany  legs,  that  you  under- 
stand what  the  true  inner  meaning  of  an  orna- 
mental cloth  is.  Right  on  the  top  of  this 
treasure  came  a  huge  hamper  from  the  Apothe- 
caries' Society  with  the  drugs  which  I  had 
ordered.  When  they  were  laid  out  in  line,  the 
bottles    extended    right    down    one    side    of    the 


THE   STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS.  275 

dining-room  and  half  down  the  other.  As  I 
walked  through  my  house  and  viewed  my 
varied  possessions,  I  felt  less  radical  in  my 
views,  and  begun  to  think  that  there  might  be 
something  in  the  rights  of  property  after  all. 

And  I  added  to  my  effects  in  a  marvellous 
way.  I  made  myself  an  excellent  mattress  out 
of  some  sacking  and  the  straw  in  which  the 
medicine  bottles  had  been  packed.  Again,  out 
of  three  shutters  which  belonged  to  the  room,  I 
rigged  up  a  very  effective  side-table  for  my 
own  den,  which  when  covered  with  a  red  cloth, 
and  ornamented  with  the  bears'  paws,  might 
have  cost  twenty  guineas  for  all  that  the  patient 
could  say  to  the  contrary.  I  had  done  all  this 
with  a  light  heart  and  a  good  spirit  before  the 
paralysing  blow  which  I  shall  have  to  tell  you 
about,  came  upon  me. 

Of  course  it  was  obvious  from  the  first  that 
a  servant  was  out  of  the  question.  I  could  not 
feed  one,  far  less  pay  one,  and  I  had  no  kitchen 
furniture.  I  must  open  my  door  to  my  own 
patients — let  them  think  what  they  would  of  it. 
I  must  clean  my  own  plate  and  brush  down  my 
own  front ;    and  these  duties  must  be  thoroughly 


276  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

done,  come  what  might,  for  I  must  show  a  pre- 
sentable outside  to  the  public.  Well,  there  was 
no  great  hardship  in  that,  for  I  could  do  it 
under  the  cover  of  night.  But  I  had  had  a 
suggestion  from  my  mother  which  simplified 
matters  immensely.  She  had  written  to  say  that 
if  I  wished  she  would  send  my  little  brother 
Paul  to  keep  me  company.  I  wrote  back  eager- 
ly to  agree.  He  was  a  hardy  cheery  little  fellow 
of  nine,  who  would,  I  knew,  gladly  share  hard 
times  with  me ;  while,  if  they  became  unduly  so, 
I  could  always  have  him  taken  home  again. 
Some  weeks  must  pass  before  he  could  come, 
but  it  cheered  me  to  think  of  him.  Apart  from 
his  company,  there  were  a  thousand  waj^s  in 
which  he  might  be  useful. 

Who  should  come  in  on  the  second  day  but 
old  Captain  Whitehall?  I  was  in  the  back  room, 
trying  how  many  slices  I  could  make  out  of  a 
pound  of  potted  beef,  when  he  rang  my  bell, 
and  I  only  just  shut  my  mouth  in  time  to  pre- 
vent my  heart  jumping  out. 

How  that  bell  clanged  through  the  empty 
house!  I  saw  who  it  was,  however,  when  I 
w^ent  into  the  hall ;    for  the  middle  panels  of  my 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


277 


door  are  of  glazed  glass,  so  that  I  can  always 
study  a  silhouette  of  my  visitors  before  coming 
to  closer  quarters. 

I  was  not  quite  sure  yet  whether  I  loathed 
the  man  or  liked  him.  He  was  the  most  ex- 
traordinary mixture  of  charity  and  drunkenness, 
lechery  and  self-sacrifice  that  I  had  ever  come 
across.  But  he  brought  into  the  house  with 
him  a  whifT  of  cheeriness  and  hope  for  which  I 
could  not  but  be  grateful.  He  had  a  large 
brown  paper  parcel  under  his  arm,  which  he 
unwrapped  upon  my  table,  displaying  a  great 
brown  jar.  This  he  carried  over  and  deposited 
on  the  centre  of  my  mantel-piece. 

"  You  will  permit  me,  Dr.  Munro,  sir,  to 
place  this  trifle  in  your  room.  It's  lava,  sir ; 
lava   from   Vesuvius,    and    made   in    Naples.      By 

,  you  may    think    its    empty.  Dr.   Munro,  sir, 

but  it  is  full  of  my  best  wishes  ;  and  when 
you've  got  the  best  practice  in  this  town  you 
may    point    to    that    vase    and    tell   how    it    came 

from  a skipper  of   an    armed    transport,   who 

backed  you  from  the  start." 

I  tell  you,  Bertie,  the  tears  started  to  my 
eyes,    and   I    could    hardly    gulp    out    a  word    or 


2^8  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

two  of  thanks.  What  a  criss-cross  of  qualities 
in  one  human  soul  I  It  was  not  the  deed  or 
the  words  ;  but  it  was  the  almost  womanly  look 
in  the  eyes  of  this  broken,  drink-sodden  old 
Bohemian — the  sympathy  and  the  craving  for 
sympathy  which  I  read  there.  Only  for  an  in- 
stant though,  for  he  hardened  again  into  his 
usual  reckless  and  half    defiant  manner. 

''  There's  another  thing,  sir.  I've  been  think- 
ing for  some  time  back  of  having  a  medical 
opinion  on  myself.  I'd  be  glad  to  put  myself 
under  your  hands,  if  you  would  take  a  survey 
of  me." 

''  What's  the  matter  ?  "    I  asked. 

''  Dr.    Munro,    sir,"    said    he,    ''  I    am    a 

walking    museum.      You    could    fit  what    zsut  the 

matter  with  me  on  to  the  back  of  a  ■ visiting 

card.  If  there's  any  complaint  you  want  to 
make  a  special  study  of,  just  you  come  to  me, 
sir,  and  see  what  I  can  do  for  you.  It's  not 
every  one  that  can  say  that  he  has  had  cholera 
three  times,  and  cured  himself  by  living  on  red 
pepper    and    brandy.       If   you    can    only    set    the 

little  germs    sneezing  they'll    soon  leave  you 

alone.     That's  my  theory  about  cholera,  and  you 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  279 

should  make  a  note  of  it,  Dr.  Munro,  sir,  for  I 
was  shipmates  with  fifty  dead  men  when  I  was 
commanding   the    armed    transport   Hegira   in  the 

Black    Sea,    and     I    know well    what    I    am 

talking  about." 

I  fill  in  Whitehall's  oaths  with  blanks  because 
I  feel  how  hopeless  it  is  to  reproduce  their  ener- 
gy and  variety.  I  was  amazed  when  he  stripped, 
for  his  whole  body  was  covered  with  a  perfect 
panorama  of  tattooings,  with  a  big  blue  Venus 
right  over  his  heart. 

*'  You  may  knock,"    said    he,  when  I  began  to 

percuss  his  chest,  *'  but  I  am  sure  there's  no 

one  at  home.  They've  all  gone  visiting  one  an- 
other. Sir  John  Hutton  had  a  try  some  years 
ago.  'Why,  dammy,  man,  where's  your  liver?' 
said  he.  '  Seems  to  me  that  some  one  has  stirred 
you  up  with  a  porridge  stick,'  said  he.  '  Noth- 
ing is  in  its  right  place.'     '  Except  my  heart.   Sir 

John,'  said  I.     '  Aye,  by ,  that  will  never  lose 

its  moorings  while  it  has  a  flap  left.' " 

Well,  I  examined  him,  and  I  found  his  own 
account  not  very  far  from  the  truth.  I  went  over 
him  carefully  from  head  to  foot,  and  there  was 
not  much  left  as  Nature  made  it.     He  had  mitral 


28o  THE   STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS. 

regurgitation,  cirrhosis  of  the  liver,  Bright's  dis- 
ease, an  enlarged  spleen,  and  incipient  dropsy.  I 
gave  him  a  lecture  about  the  necessity  of  tem- 
perance, if  not  of  total  abstinence ;  but  I  fear  that 
my  words  made  no  impression.  He  chuckled, 
and  made  a  kind  of  clucking  noise  in  his  throat 
all  the  time  that  I  was  speaking,  but  whether  in 
assent  or  remonstrance  I  cannot  say. 

He  pulled  out  his  purse  when  I  had  finished, 
but  I  begged  him  to  look  on  my  small  service 
as  a  mere  little  act  of  friendship.  This  would  not 
do  at  all,  however,  and  he  seemed  so  determined 
about  it  that  I  was  forced  to  give  way. 

"  My  fee  is  five  shillings,  then,  since  you  in- 
sist upon  making  it  a  business  matter." 

**  Dr.  Munro,  sir,"  he  broke  out,  "  I  have  been 
examined  by  men  whom  I  wouldn't  throw^  a  bucket 
of  water  over  if  they  were  burning,  and  I  never 
paid  them  less  than  a  guinea.  Now  that  I  have 
come  to  a  gentleman  and  a  friend,  stiffen  me  pur- 
ple if  I  pay  one  farthing  less." 

So,  after  much  argument,  it  ended  in  the  kind 
fellow  going  off  and  leaving  a  sovereign  and  a 
shilling  on  the  edge  of  my  table.  The  money 
burned    my  fingers,  for  I    knew  that    his    pension 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  28l 

was  not  a  very  large  one ;  and  yet,  since  I  could 
not  avoid  taking  it,  there  was  no  denying  that  it 
was  exceedingly  useful.  Out  I  sallied  and  spent 
sixteen  shillings  of  it  upon  a  new  palliasse  which 
should  go  under  the  straw  mattress  upon  my  bed. 
Already,  you  see,  I  was  getting  to  a  state  of 
enervating  luxury  in  my  household  arrangements, 
and  I  could  only  lull  my  conscience  by  reminding 
myself  that  little  Paul  would  have  to  sleep  with 
me  when  he  came. 

However,  I  had  not  quite  got  to  the  end  of 
Whitehall's  visit  yet.  When  I  went  back  I  took 
down  the  beautiful  lava  jug,  and  inside  I  found 
his  card.  On  the  back  was  written,  "  You  have 
gone  into  action,  sir.  It  may  be  your  fate  to  sink 
or  to  swim,  but  it  can  never  be  3^our  degradation 
to  strike.  Die  on  the  last  plank  and  be  damned 
to  you,  or  come  into  port  with  your  ensign  flying 
mast-high." 

Was   it   not    fine?      It   stirred    my    blood,    and 

the  words  rang  like  a  bugle  call  in  my  head.     It 

braced    me,  and    the    time  was    coming  when    all 

the  bracing  I  could  get  would  not  be  too  much. 

I  copied  it  out,  and  pinned  it  on  one  side  of  my 

mantel-piece.      On    the   other    I    stuck  up  a    chip 
19 


282  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

from  Carlyle,  which  I  daresay  is  as  familiar  to 
you  as  to  me.  "■  One  way  or  another  all  the 
light,  energy,  and  available  virtue  which  we  have 
does  come  out  of  us,  and  goes  very  infallibly 
into  God's  treasury,  living  and  working  through 
eternities  there.  We  are  not  lost — not  a  single 
atom  of  us — of  one  of  us."  Now,  there  is  a  re- 
ligious sentence  which  is  intellectually  satisfying, 
and  therefore  morally  sound. 

This  last  quotation  leads  to  my  second  visitor. 
Such  a  row  we  had  !  I  make  a  mistake  in  telling 
you  about  it,  for  I  know  your  sympathies  will  be 
against  me ;  but  at  least  it  will  have  the  good 
effect  of  making  you  boil  over  into  a  letter  of 
remonstrance  and  argument  than  which  nothing 
could  please  me  better. 

Well,  the  second  person  whom  I  admitted 
through  my  door  was  the  High  Church  curate 
of  the  parish — at  least,  I  deduced  High  Church 
from  his  collar  and  the  cross  which  dangled  from 
his  watch  chain.  He  seemed  to  be  a  fine  upstand- 
ing manly  fellow — in  fact,  I  am  bound  in  honesty 
to  admit  that  I  have  never  met  the  washy  tea- 
party  curate  outside  the  pages  of  Punch.  As  a 
body,  I  think    they  would    compare  very  well  in 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


283 


manliness  (I  do  not  say  in  brains)  with  as  many 
young-  lawyers  or  doctors.  Still,  I  have  no  love 
for  the  cloth.  Just  as  cotton,  which  is  in  itself 
the  most  harmless  substance  in  the  world,  becomes 
dangerous  on  being  dipped  into  nitric  acid,  so 
the  mildest  of  mortals  is  to  be  feared  if  he  is 
once  soaked  in  sectarian  religion.  If  he  has  any 
rancour  or  hardness  in  him  it  will  bring  it  out. 
I  was  therefore  by  no  means  overjoyed  to  see 
my  visitor,  though  I  trust  that  I  received  him 
with  fitting  courtesy.  The  quick  little  glance  of 
surprise  which  he  shot  round  him  as  he  entered 
my  consulting-room,  told  me  that  it  was  not  quite 
what  he  had  expected. 

"  You  see,  the  Vicar  has  been  away  for  two 
years,"  he  explained,  "  and  we  have  to  look  after 
things  in  his  absence.  His  chest  is  weak,  and  he 
can't  stand  Birchespool.  I  live  just  opposite,  and, 
seeing-  your  plate  go  up,  I  thought  I  would  call 
and  welcome  you  into  our  parish." 

I  told  him  that  I  was  very  much  obliged  for 
the  attention.  If  he  had  stopped  there  all  would 
have  been  well,  and  we  should  have  had  a  pleas- 
ant little  chat.  But  I  suppose  it  was  his  sense  of 
duty  which  would  not  permit  it. 


284  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

"  I  trust,"  said  he,  "  that  we  shall  see  you  at 
St.  Joseph's." 

I  was  compelled  to  explain  that  it  was  not 
probable. 

''  A  Roman  Catholic  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  not  un- 
friendly voice. 

I  shook  my  head,  but  nothing  would  dis- 
courage him. 

"Not  a  dissenter!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sud- 
den hardening  of    his  genial  face. 

I  shook  my  head  again. 

"  Ah,  a  little  lax — a  little  remiss  !  "  he  said 
playfully,  and  with  an  expression  of  relief. 
"  Professional  men  get  into  these  ways.  They 
have  much  to  distract  them.  At  least,  you  cling 
fast,  no  doubt,  to  the  fundamental  truths  of 
Christianity  ?  " 

"  I  believe  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart," 
said  I,  "  that  the  Founder  of  it  was  the  best  and 
sweetest  character  of  whom  we  have  any  record 
in  the  histor}^  of  this  planet." 

But  instead  of  soothing  him,  my  conciliatory 
answer  seemed  to  be  taken  as  a  challenge.  "  I 
trust,"  said  he  severely,  "  that  your  belief  goes 
further  than    that.      You    are    surely  prepared  to 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  285 

admit  that  He  was  an  incarnation  of  the  God- 
head." 

I  began  to  feel  like  the  old  badger  in  his 
hole  who  longs  to  have  a  scratch  at  the  black 
muzzle  which  is  so  eager  to  draw  him. 

"  Does  it  not  strike  you,"  I  said,  "  that  if  He 
were  but  a  frail  mortal  like  ourselves,  His  life 
assumes  a  much  deeper  significance  ?  It  then 
becomes  a  standard  towards  which  we  might 
work.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  He  was  intrin- 
sically of  a  different  nature  to  ourselves,  then  His 
existence  loses  its  point,  since  we  and  He  start 
upon  a  different  basis.  To  my  mind  it  is  ob- 
vious that  such  a  supposition  takes  away  the 
beauty  and  the  moral  of  His  life.  If  He  was 
divine  then  He  could  not  sin,  and  there  was  an 
end  of  the  matter.  We  who  are  not  divine 
and  can  sin,  have  little  to  learn  from  a  life  like 
that." 

"  He  triumphed  over  sin,"  said  my  visitor,  as 
if  a  text  or  a   phrase  were  an  argument. 

"  A  cheap  triumph  !  "  I  said.  "  You  remem- 
ber that  Roman  emperor  who  used  to  descend 
into  the  arena  fully  armed,  and  pit  himself 
against    some     poor     wretch    who     had     onl_v    a 


286  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

leaden  foil  which  would  double  up  at  a  thrust. 
According  to  your  theory  of  your  Master's  life, 
you  would  have  it  that  He  faced  the  tempta- 
tions of  this  world  at  such  an  advantage  that 
they  were  only  harmless  leaden  things,  and  not 
the  sharp  assailants  which  we  find  them.  I  con- 
fess, in  my  own  case,  that  my  sympathy  is  as 
strong  when  I  think  of  His  weaknesses  as  of 
His  wisdom  and  His  virtue.  They  come  more 
home  to  me,  I  suppose,  since  I  am  weak  my- 
self." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  be  good  enough  to  tell 
me  what  has  impressed  you  as  weak  in  His  con- 
duct?"  asked  my  visitor  stiffly. 

**  Well,  the  more  human  traits — *  weak '  is 
hardly  the  word  I  should  have  used.  His  re- 
buke of  the  Sabbatarians,  His  personal  violence 
to  the  hucksters.  His  outbursts  against  the  Phari- 
sees, His  rather  unreasoning  petulance  against 
the  fig-tree  because  it  bore  no  fruit  at  the 
wrong  season  of  the  year.  His  very  human  feel- 
ing towards  the  housewife  who  bustled  about 
when  He  was  talking,  his  gratification  that  the 
ointment  should  have  been  used  for  Him  instead 
of   being    devoted    to    the    poor,    His    self-distrust 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  287 

before  the  crisis — these  make  me  realise  and  love 
the  man." 

"  You  are  a  Unitarian,  then,  or  rather,  per- 
haps, a  mere  Deist  ? "  said  the  curate,  with  a 
combative  fiush. 

"  You  may  label  me  as  you  like,"  I  an- 
swered (and  by  this  time  I  fear  that  I  had  got 
my  preaching  stop  fairly  out) ;  ''  I  don't  pretend 
to  know  what  truth  is,  for  it  is  infinite,  and  I 
finite ;  but  I  know  particularly  well  what  it  is 
not.  It  is  not  true  that  religion  reached  its 
acme  nineteen  hundred  years  ago,  and  that  we 
are  for  ever  to  refer  back  to  what  w^as  written 
and  said  in  those  days.  No,  sir ;  religion  is  a 
vital  living  thing,  still  growing  and  working, 
capable  of  endless  extension  and  development, 
like  all  other  fields  of  thought.  There  w^ere 
many  eternal  truths  spoken  of  old  and  handed 
down  to  us  in  a  book,  some  parts  of  which 
may  indeed  be  called  holy.  But  there  are 
others  yet  to  be  revealed  ;  and  if  we  are  to 
reject  them  because  they  are  not  in  those 
pages,  we  should  act  as  wisely  as  the  scientist 
who  would  take  no  notice  of  Kirschoff's  spectral 
analysis    because    there    is    no    mention    of    it    in 


288  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

Albertus  Magnus.  A  modern  prophet  may  wear 
a  broadcloth  coat  and  write  to  the  magazines  ; 
but  none  the  less  he  may  be  the  little  pipe 
which  conveys  a  tiny  squirt  from  the  reservoirs 
of  truth.  Look  at  this !  "  I  cried,  rising  and 
reading  my  Carlyle  text.  *'  That  comes  from 
no  Hebrew  prophet,  but  from  a  ratepayer  in 
Chelsea.  He  and  Emerson  are  also  among  the 
prophets.  The  Almighty  has  not  said  His  last 
say  to  the  human  race,  and  He  can  speak 
through  a  Scotchman  or  a  New  Englander  as 
easily  as  through  a  Jew.  The  Bible,  sir,  is  a 
book  which  comes  out  in  instalments,  and  '  To 
be  continued,'  not  '  Finis,'  is  written  at  the  end 
of  it." 

My  visitor  had  been  showing  every  sign  of 
acute  uneasiness  during  this  long  speech  of 
mine.  Finally,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  took 
his  hat  from  the  table. 

*'  Your  opinions  are  highly  dangerous,  sir," 
said  he.  ''  It  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  so.  You 
believe  in  nothing." 

"  Nothing  which  limits  the  power  or  the 
goodness  of  the  Almighty,"  I  answered. 

"You    have   evolved    all    this   from   your   own 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  289 

spiritual  pride  and  self-sufficiency,"  said  he,  hotly. 
*'  Why  do  you  not  turn  to  that  Deity  whose 
name  you  use?  Why  do  you  not  humble  your- 
self before  Him?" 

"How  do  you  know  I  don't?" 

*'  You  said  yourself  that  you  never  went  to 
church." 

*'  I  carry  my  own  church  about  under  my 
own  hat,"  said  I.  "  Bricks  and  mortar  won't 
make  a  staircase  to  heaven.  I  believe  with  your 
Master  that  the  human  heart  is  the  best  temple. 
I  am  sorry  to  see  that  you  differ  from  Him 
upon  the  point." 

Perhaps  it  was  too  bad  of  me  to  say  that. 
I  might  have  guarded  without  countering.  Any- 
how ;  it  had  the  effect  of  ending  an  interview 
which  w^as  becoming  oppressive.  My  visitor 
was  too  indignant  to  answer,  and  swept  out  of 
the  room  without  a  word.  From  my  window  I 
could  see  him  hurry  down  the  street,  a  little 
black  angry  thing,  very  hot  and  troubled  be- 
cause he  cannot  measure  the  whole  universe 
with  his  pocket  square  and  compasses.  Think 
of  it,  and  think  of  what  he  is,  an  atom  among 
atoms,    standing    at    the    meeting    point   of    two 


290  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS, 

eternities !  But  what  am  I,  a  brother  atom,  that 
I   should   judge    him  ? 

After  all,  I  own  to  you,  that  it  might  have 
been  better  had  I  listened  to  what  he  had  to 
say,  and  refused  to  give  my  own  views.  On 
the  other  hand,  truth  mus^  be  as  broad  as  the 
universe  which  it  is  to  explain,  and  therefore 
far  broader  than  anything  which  the  mind  of 
man  can  conceive.  A  protest  against  sectarian 
thought  must  always  be  an  aspiration  towards 
truth.  Who  shall  dare  to  claim  a  monopoly 
of  the  Almighty  ?  It  would  be  an  insolence  on 
the  part  of  a  solar  system,  and  yet  it  is  done 
every  day  by  a  hundred  little  cliques  of  mystery 
mongers.     There  lies  the  real  impiety. 

Well,  the  upshot  of  it  all  is,  my  dear  Bertie, 
that  I  have  begun  m}^  practice  by  making  an 
enemy  of  the  man  who,  of  the  whole  parish, 
has  the  most  power  to  injure  me.  I  know 
what  my  father  would  think  about  it,  if  he 
knew. 

And  now  I  come  to  the  great  event  of  this 
morning,  from  which  I  am  still  gasping.  That 
villain  Cullingworth  has  cut  the  painter,  and  left 
me  to  drift  as  best  I  may. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


291 


My  post  comes  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  I  usually  get  my  letters  and  take  them 
into  bed  to  read  them.  There  was  only  one 
this  morning,  addressed  in  his  strange,  unmistak- 
able hand.  I  made  sure,  of  course,  that  it  was 
my  promised  remittance,  and  I  opened  it  with  a 
pleasurable  feeling  of  expectation.  This  is  a 
copy  of  what  I  read  : — 

"  When  the  maid  was  arranging  your  room 
after  your  departure,  she  cleared  some  pieces  of 
torn  paper  from  under  the  grate.  Seeing  my 
name  upon  them,  she  brought  them,  as  in  duty 
bound,  to  her  mistress,  who  pasted  them  to- 
gether and  found  that  they  formed  a  letter 
from  your  mother  to  you,  in  which  I  am 
referred  to  in  the  vilest  terms,  such  as  '  a  bank- 
rupt swindler '  and  *  the  unscrupulous  Culling- 
worth.'  I  can  only  say  that  we  are  astonished 
that  you  could  have  been  a  party  to  such 
a  correspondence  while  you  were  a  guest 
under  our  roof,  and  we  refuse  to  have  any- 
thing more  to  do  with  you  in  any  shape  or 
form." 

That  was  a  nice  little  morning  greeting  was 
it    not,    after    I    had,    on     the     strength     of     his 


2Q2  THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

promise,  started  in  practice,  and  engaged  a 
house  for  a  year  with  a  few  shillings  in  my 
pocket  ?  I  have  given  up  smoking  for  reasons  of 
economy  ;  but  I  felt  that  the  situation  was 
worthy  of  a  pipe,  so  I  climbed  out  of  bed, 
gathered  a  little  heap  of  tobacco-dust  from  the 
linings  of  my  pocket,  and  smoked  the  whole 
thing  over.  That  life-belt  of  which  I  had  spoken 
so  confidingly  had  burst,  and  left  me  to  kick 
as  best  I  might  in  very  deep  water.  I  read 
the  note  over  and  over  again  ;  and  for  all  my 
dilemma,  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  the 
mingled  meanness  and  stupidity  of  the  thing. 
The  picture  of  the  host  and  hostess  busying 
themselves  in  gumming  together  the  torn  letters 
of  their  departed  guest  struck  me  as  one  of 
the  funniest  things  I  could  remember.  And 
there  was  the  stupidity  of  it,  because  surely 
a  child  could  have  seen  that  my  mother's 
attack  was  in  answer  to  my  defence.  Why 
should  we  write  a  duet  each  saying  the  same 
thing?  Well,  I'm  still  very  confused  about 
it  all,  and  I  don't  in  the  least  know  what 
I  am  going  to  do — more  likely  to  die  on 
the    last    plank,   than    to   get  into   port    with   my 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


293 


ensign  mast-high.  I  must  think  it  out  and  let 
you  know  the  result.  Come  what  may,  one 
thing  only  is  sure,  and  that  is  that,  in  weal  or 
woe,  I  remain,  ever,  your  affectionate  and  gar- 
rulous friend. 


XIII. 

I  Oakley  Villas,  Birchespool,  12th  Jtine,  1S82. 
When  I  wrote  my  last  letter,  my  dear 
Bertie,  I  was  still  gasping,  like  a  cod  on  a 
sand-bank,  after  my  final  dismissal  by  Culling- 
worth.  The  mere  setting  of  it  all  down  in  black 
and  white  seemed  to  clear  the  matter  up,  and  I 
felt  much  more  cheery  by  the  time  I  had  fin- 
ished my  letter.  I  was  just  addressing  the 
envelope  (observe  what  a  continuous  narrative 
you  get  of  my  proceedings !)  when  I  was  set 
jumping  out  of  my  carpet  slippers  b}^  a  ring  at 
the  bell.  Through  the  glass  panel  I  observed 
that  it  was  a  respectable-looking  bearded  indi- 
vidual with  a  top-hat.  It  was  a  patient.  It 
must  be  a  patient !  Then  first  I  realised  what 
an  entirely  different  thing  it  is  to  treat  the 
patient  of  another  man  (as  I  had  done  with 
Horton)  or  to  work  a  branch  of  another  man's 
practice  (as  I   had   done   with    Cullingworth),  and 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


295 


to  have  to  do  with  a  complete  stranger  on  your 
own  account.  I  had  been  thrilling  to  have  one. 
Now  that  he  had  come  I  felt  for  an  instant  as 
if  I  would  not  open  the  door.  But  of  course 
that  was  only  a  momentary  weakness.  I  an- 
swered his  ring  with,  I  fear,  rather  a  hypo- 
critical air  of  insouciance,  as  though  I  had  hap- 
pened to  find  myself  in  the  hall,  and  did  not 
care  to  trouble  the   maid  to  ascend  the  stairs. 

"Dr.  Stark   Munro?"    he  asked. 

*'  Pray  step  in,"  I  answered,  and  waved  him 
into  the  consulting-room.  He  was  a  pompous, 
heavy-stepping,  thick-voiced  sort  of  person,  but 
to  me  he  was  an  angel  from  on  high.  1  was 
nervous,  and  at  the  same  time  so  afraid  that  he 
should  detect  my  nervousness  and  lose  confi- 
dence in  me,  that  I  found  myself  drifting  into 
an  extravagant  geniality.  He  seated  himself  at 
my  invitation  and  gave  a  husky  cough. 

"  Ah,"  said  I — 1  al\va3'S  prided  myself  on  be- 
ing quick  at  diagnosis — "  bronchial,  1  perceive. 
These  summer  colds  are  a  little  trying." 

"  Yes,"  said   he.     ''  I've   had  it  some  time." 

"  With  a  little  care  and  treatment "  1  sug- 
gested. 


296 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


He  did  not  seem  sanguine,  but  groaned  and 
shook  his  head.  "  It's  not  about  that  I've 
come,"  said  he. 

"  No  ?  "     My  heart  turned  to  lead. 

''  No,  doctor."  He  took  out  a  bulging  note- 
book. "  It's  about  a  small  sum  that's  due  on 
the  meter." 

You'll  laugh,  Bertie,  but  it  was  no  laughing 
matter  to  me.  He  wanted  eight  and  sixpence 
on  account  of  something  that  the  last  tenant 
either  had  or  had  not  done.  Otherwise  the 
company  would  remove  the  gas-meter.  How 
little  he  could  have  guessed  that  the  alternative 
he  was  presenting  to  me  was  either  to  pay 
away  more  than  half  my  capital,  or  to  give  up 
cooking  my  food  !  I  at  last  appeased  him  by  a 
promise  that  I  should  look  into  the  matter,  and 
so  escaped  for  the  moment,  badly  shaken  but 
still  solvent.  He  gave  me  a  good  deal  of  in- 
formation about  the  state  of  his  tubes  (his  own, 
not  the  gas  company's)  before  he  departed  ;  but 
I  had  rather  lost  interest  in  the  subject  since  I 
had  learned  that  he  was  being  treated  by  his 
club  doctor. 

That  was  the    first   of   my   morning  incidents. 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


297 


My  second  followed  hard  upon  the  heels  of  it. 
Another  ring  came,  and  from  my  post  of  obser- 
vation I  saw  that  a  gipsy's  van,  hung  with 
baskets  and  wackerwork  chairs,  had  drawn  up  at 
the  door.  Two  or  three  people  appeared  to  be 
standing  outside.  I  understood  that  they  wished 
me  to  purchase  some  of  their  wares,  so  1  merely 
opened  the  door  about  three  inches,  said  ''  No, 
thank  you,"  and  closed  it.  They  seemed  not  to 
have  heard  me  for  they  rang  again,  upon  which 
I  opened  the  door  wider  and  spoke  more  de- 
cidedly. Imagine  my  surprise  when  they  rang 
again.  I  flung  the  door  open,  and  was  about  to 
ask  them  what  they  meant  by  their  impudence, 
when  one  of  the  little  group  upon  my  doorstep 
said,  "  If  you  please,  sir,  it's  the  baby."  Never 
was  there  such  a  change — from  the  outraged 
householder  to  the  professional  man.  "  Pray  step 
in,  madam,"  said  I,  in  quite  my  most  courtly 
style  ;  and  in  they  all  came — the  husband,  the 
brother,  the  wife  and  the  baby.  The  latter  was 
in  the  early  stage  of  measles.  They  were  poor 
outcast  sort  of  people,  and  seemed  not  to  have 
sixpence  among  them  ;  so  my  demands  for  a  fee 
at  the  end  of  the  consultation    ended  first  in    my 


298 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


giving  the  medicine  for  nothing,  and  finally  add- 
ing fivepence  in  coppers,  which  was  all  the 
small  change  I  had.  A  few  more  such  patients 
and   T  am  a  broken  man. 

However,  the  two  incidents  together  had  the 
effect  of  taking  up  my  attention  and  breaking 
the  blow  which  I  had  had  in  the  Cullingworth 
letter.  It  made  me  laugh  to  think  that  the  ap- 
parent outsider  should  prove  to  be  a  patient, 
and  the  apparent  patient  an  outsider.  So  back  I 
went,  in  a  much  more  judicial  frame  of  mind,  to 
read  that  precious  document  over  again,  and  to 
make  up  my  mind  what  it  was  that  I  should  do. 

And  now  I  came  to  my  first  real  insight  into 
the  depths  which  lie  in  the  character  of  Culling- 
worth. I  began  by  trying  to  recall  how  I  could 
have  torn  up  my  mother's  letters,  for  it  is  not 
usual  for  me  to  destroy  papers  in  this  manner. 
I  have  often  been  chaffed  about  the  way  in 
which  I  allow  them  to  accumulate  until  my 
pockets  become  unbearable.  The  more  I  thought 
about  it  the  more  convinced  I  was  that  I  could 
not  have  done  anything  of  the  sort ;  so  finally  I 
got  out  the  little  house  jacket  which  I  had 
usually    worn  at   Bradfield,    and    I    examined   the 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


299 


sheaves  of  letters  which  it  contained.  It  was 
there,  Bertie  !  Almost  the  very  first  one  that  I 
opened  was  the  identical  one  from  which  Cul- 
lingworth  was  quoting  in  which  my  mother  had 
described  him  in  those  rather  forcible  terms. 

Well,  this  made  me  sit  down  and  gasp.  I 
am,  I  think,  one  of  the  most  unsuspicious  men 
upon  earth,  and  through  a  certain  easy-going 
indolence  of  disposition  I  never  even  think  of 
the  possibility  of  those  with  whom  I  am  brought 
in  contact  trying  to  deceive  me.  It  does  not  oc- 
cur to  me.  But  let  me  once  get  on  that  line  of 
thought — let  me  have  proof  that  there  is  reason 
for  suspicion — and  then  all  faith  slips  completely 
away  from  me.  Now  I  could  see  an  explanation 
for  much  which  had  puzzled  me  at  Bradfield. 
Those  sudden  fits  of  ill  temper,  the  occasional 
ill-concealed  animosity  of  Cullingworth — did  they 
not  mark  the  arrival  of  each  of  my  mother's 
letters  ?  I  was  convinced  that  they  did.  He 
had  read  them  then — read  them  from  the  pock- 
ets of  the  little  house  coat  which  I  used  to 
leave  carelessly  in  the  hall  when  I  put  on  my 
professional  one  to  go  out.  I  could  remember, 
for   example,   how   at   the   end   of   his   illness   his 


300 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


manner  had  suddenly  changed  on  the  very  day 
when  that  final  letter  of  my  mother's  had  ar- 
rived. Yes,  it  was  certain  that  he  had  read 
them  from  the  beginning. 

But  a  blacker  depth  of  treachery  lay  beyond. 
If  he  had  read  them,  and  if  he  had  been  insane 
enough  to  think  that  I  was  acting  disloyally 
towards  him,  why  had  he  not  said  so  at  the 
time  ?  Why  had  he  contented  himself  with  side- 
long scowls  and  quarrelling  over  trivialities  — 
breaking,  too,  into  forced  smiles  when  I  had 
asked  him  point  blank  what  was  the  matter? 
One  obvious  reason  was  that  he  could  not  tell 
his  grievance  without  telling  also  how  he  had 
acquired  his  information.  But  I  knew  enough 
of  Cullingworth's  resource  to  feel  that  he  could 
easily  have  got  over  such  a  difficulty  as  that. 
In  fact,  in  this  last  letter  he  Jiad  got  over  it  by 
his  tale  about  the  grate  and  the  maid.  He  must 
have  had  some  stronger  reason  for  restraint.  As 
I  thought  over  the  course  of  our  relations  I  was 
convinced  that  his  scheme  was  to  lure  me  on 
by  promises  until  I  had  committed  myself,  and 
then  to  abandon  me,  so  that  I  should  myself 
have    no     resource     but    to    compound    with    my 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


301 


creditors — to   be,    in    fact,  that  which    my  mother 
had  called  him. 

But  in  that  case  he  must  have  been  planning 
it  out  almost  from  the  beginning  of  my  stay 
with  him,  for  my  mother's  letters  stigmatising 
his  conduct  had  begun  very  early.  For  some 
time  he  had  been  uncertain  how  to  proceed. 
Then  he  had  invented  the  excuse  (which  seemed 
to  me  at  the  time,  if  you  remember,  to  be  quite 
inadequate)  about  the  slight  weekly  decline  in 
the  practice  in  order  to  get  me  out  of  it.  His 
next  move  was  to  persuade  me  to  start  for  my- 
self ;  and  as  this  would  be  impossible  without 
money,  he  had  encouraged  me  to  it  by  the 
promise  of  a  small  weekly  loan.  I  remembered 
how  he  had  told  me  not  to  be  afraid  about 
ordering  furniture  and  other  things,  because 
tradesmen  gave  long  credit  to  beginners,  and  I 
could  always  fall  back  upon  him  if  necessar3^ 
He  knew  too  from  his  own  experience  that  the 
landlord  would  require  at  least  a  year's  tenancy. 
Then  he  waited  to  spring  his  mine  until  I  had 
written  to  say  that  I  had  finally  committed  my- 
self, on  which  by  return  of  post  came  his  letter 
breaking  the  connection.     It  was    so  long  and  so 


302 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


elaborate  a  course  of  deceit,  that  I  for  the  first 
time  felt  something  like  fear  as  I  thought  of 
CuUingvvorth.  It  was  as  though  in  the  guise 
and  dress  of  a  man  I  had  caught  a  sudden 
glimpse  of  something  sub-human — of  something 
so  outside  my  own  range  of  thought  that  I  was 
powerless  against  it. 

Well,  I  wrote  him  a  little  note — only  a  short 
one,  but  with,  I  hope,  a  bit  of  a  barb  to  it.  I 
said  that  his  letter  had  been  a  source  of  grati- 
fication to  me,  as  it  removed  the  only  cause  for 
disagreement  between  my  mother  and  myself. 
She  had  always  thought  him  a  blackguard,  and 
I  had  always  defended  him ;  but  I  was  forced 
now  to  confess  that  she  had  been  right  from  the 
beginning.  I  said  enough  to  show  him  that  I 
saw  through  his  whole  plot;  and  I  wound  up 
by  assuring  him  that  if  he  thought  he  had  done 
me  any  harm  he  had  made  a  great  mistake  ;  for 
I  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  unin- 
tentionally forced  me  into  the  very  opening 
which   1  had   most  desired   m3^self. 

After  this  bit  of  bravado  I  felt  better,  and  I 
thought  over  the  situation.  I  was  alone  in  a 
strange    town,    without    connections,    without    in- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  303 

troductions,  with  less  than  a  pound  in  my 
pocket,  and  with  no  possibility  of  freeing  myself 
from  my  responsibilities.  I  had  no  one  at  all 
to  look  to  for  help,  for  all  my  recent  letters 
from  home  had  given  a  dreary  account  of  the 
state  of  things  there.  My  poor  father's  health 
and  his  income  were  dwindling  together.  On 
the  other  hand,  I  reflected  that  there  were  some 
points  in  my  favour.  I  was  young.  I  was  ener- 
getic. I  had  been  brought  up  hard,  and  was 
quite  prepared  to  rough  it.  I  was  well  up  in 
my  work,  and  believed  I  could  get  on  with 
patients.  My  house  was  an  excellent  one  for  my 
purpose,  and  I  had  already  put  the  essentials  of 
furniture  into  it.  The  game  was  not  played  out 
yet.  I  jumped  to  my  feet  and  clenched  my 
hand,  and  swore  to  the  chandelier  that  it  never 
should  be  played  out  until  I  had  to  beckon  for 
help  from  the  window. 

For  the  next  three  days  I  had  not  a  single 
ring  at  the  bell  of  any  sort  whatever.  A  man 
could  not  be  more  isolated  from  his  kind.  It 
used  to  amuse  me  to  sit  upstairs  and  count  how 
many  of  the  passers-by  stopped  to  look  at  my 
plate.     Once  (on    a    Sunday   morning)  there  were 


304  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

over  a  hundred  in  an  hour,  and  often  I  could 
see  from  their  glancing  over  their  shoulders  as 
they  walked  on,  that  they  were  thinking  or 
talking:  of  the  new  doctor.  This  used  to  cheer 
me  up,  and  make  me  feel  that  something  was 
going  on. 

Every  night  between  nine  and  ten  I  slip  out 
and  do  my  modest  shopping,  having  already 
made  my  menu  for  the  coming  day.  I  come 
back  usually  with  a  loaf  of  bread,  a  paper  of 
fried  fish,  or  a  bundle  of  saveloys.  Then  when 
I  think  things  are  sufficiently  quiet,  I  go  out 
and  brush  down  the  front  with  my  broom,  lean- 
ing it  against  the  wall  and  looking  up  medita- 
tively at  the  stars  whenever  anyone  passes. 
Then,  later  still,  I  bring  out  my  polishing  paste, 
my  rag,  and  my  chamois  leather ;  and  I  assure 
you  that  if  practice  went  by  the  brilliancy  of 
one's  plate,  I  should  sweep  the  town. 

Who  do  you  think  was  the  first  person  who 
broke  this  spell  of  silence  ?  The  rufhan  whom 
I  had  fought  under  the  lamp-post.  He  is  a 
scissors-grinder  it  seems,  and  rang  to  know  if  I 
had  a  job  for  him.  I  could  not  help  grinning 
at  him  when  I  opened   the  door  and  saw  who  it 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


305 


was.  He  showed  no  sign  of  recognising 
me,  however,  which  is  hardly  to  be  won- 
dered at. 

The  next  comer  was  a  real  bona  fide  patient, 
albeit  a  very  modest  one.  She  was  a  little  an- 
aemic old  maid,  a  chronic  hypochondriac  I 
should  judge,  who  had  probably  worked  her 
way  round  every  doctor  in  the  town,  and  was 
anxious  to  sample  this  novelty.  I  don't  know 
whether  I  gave  her  satisfaction.  She  said  that 
she  would  come  again  on  Wednesday,  but  her 
eyes  shifted  as  she  said  it.  One  and  sixpence 
was  as  much  as  she  could  pay,  but  it  was  very 
welcome.  I  can  live  three  days  on  one  and  six- 
pence. 

I  think  that  I  have  brought  economy  down 
to  its  finest  point.  No  doubt,  for  a  short  spell 
I  could  manage  to  live  on  a  couple  of  pence  a 
day  ;  but  what  I  am  doing  now  is  not  to  be  a 
mere  spurt,  but  my  regular  mode  of  life  for 
many  a  month  to  come.  My  tea  and  sugar  and 
milk  (Swiss)  come  collectively  to  one  penny  a 
day.  The  loaf  is  at  twopence  three-farthings, 
and  I  consume  one  a  day.  My  dinner  consists 
in   rotation  of    one  third    of    a    pound    of     bacon, 


3o6  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

cooked  over  the  gas  (twopence  halfpenny),  or 
two  saveloys  (twopence),  or  two  pieces  of  fried 
fish  (twopence),  or  a  quarter  of  an  eightpenny 
tin  of  Chicago  beef  (twopence).  Any  one  of 
these,  with  a  due  allowance  of  bread  and  water, 
makes  a  most  substantial  meal.  Butter  I  have 
discarded  for  the  present.  My  actual  board 
therefore  comes  well  under  sixpence  a  day,  but 
I  am  a  patron  of  literature  to  the  extent  of  a 
halfpenny  a  day,  which  I  expend  upon  an  even- 
ing paper  ;  for  with  events  hurrying  on  like  this 
in  Alexandria,  I  cannot  bear  to  be  without  the 
news.  Still  I  often  reproach  myself  with  that 
halfpenny,  for  if  I  went  out  in  the  evening  and 
looked  at  the  placards  I  might  save  it,  and  yet 
have  a  general  idea  of  what  is  going  on.  Of 
course,  a  halfpenny  a  night  sounds  nothing,  but 
think  of  a  shilling  a  month  !  Perhaps  you  pic- 
ture me  as  bloodless  and  pulled  down  on  this 
diet !  I  am  thin,  it  is  true,  but  I  never  felt 
more  fit  in  my  life.  So  full  of  energy  am  I  that 
I  start  off  sometimes  at  ten  at  night  and  walk 
hard  until  two  or  three  in  the  morning.  I  dare 
not  go  out  during  the  day,  you  see,  for  fear 
that  I  should    miss  a    patient.     I    have    asked  my 


THE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS. 


307 


mother  not  to  send  little  Paul  down  yet  until  I 
see  my  way  more  clearly. 

Old  Whitehall  came  in  to  see  me  the  other 
day.  The  object  of  his  visit  was  to  invite  me 
to  dinner,  and  the  object  of  the  dinner  to  in- 
augurate my  starting  in  practice.  If  I  were  the 
kind  old  fellow's  son  he  could  not  take  a  deeper 
interest  in  me  and  my  prospects. 

*'  By  ,  Dr.    Munro,    sir,"    said    he,    "  I've 

asked    every man    in    Birchespool    that's  got 

anything  the  matter  with  him.  You'll  have  the 
lot  as  patients  within  a  week.  There's  Fraser, 
who's  got  a  touch  of  Martell's  three  star.  He's 
coming.     And   there's  Saunders,  who   talks  about 

nothing    but    his    spleen.      I'm    sick    of    his 

spleen  !  But  I  asked  him.  And  there's  Tur- 
pey's  wound  !  This  wet  weather  sets  it  tingling, 
and  his  own  surgeon  can  do  nothing  but  dab  it 
with  vaseline.  He'll  be  there.  And  there's 
Carr,  who  is  drinking  himself  to  death.  He  has 
not  much  for  the  doctors,  but  what  there  is  you 
may  as  w^ell  have." 

All  next  day  he  kept  popping  in  to  ask  me 
questions  about  the  dinner.  Should  we  have 
clear  soup  or  ox-tail  ?      Didn't    I    think    that  bur- 


3o8  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

gundy  was  better  than  port  and  sherry  ?  The 
day  after  was  the  celebration  itself,  and  he  was 
in  with  a  bulletin  immediately  after  breakfast. 
The  cooking  was  to  be  done  at  a  neighbouring 
confectioner's.  The  landlady's  son  was  coming 
in  to  wait.  I  was  sorry  to  see  that  Whitehall 
was  already  slurring  his  words  together,  and 
had  evidently  been  priming  himself  heavily.  He 
looked  in  again  in  the  afternoon  to  tell  me  what 
a  good  time  we  should  have.  So-and-so  could 
talk  well,  and  the  other  man  could  sing  a  song. 
He  was  so  far  gone  by  now,  that  I  ventured  (in 
the  capacity  of  medical  adviser)  to  speak  to  him 
about  it. 

*'  It's    not    the    liquor.    Dr.    Munro,    sir,"    said 

he   earnestly.      ''  It's   the relaxing  air  of  this 

town.  But  I'll  go  home  and  lie  I'll  down,  and 
be  as  fresh  as  paint  to  welcome  my  guests." 

But  the  excitement  of  the  impending  event 
must  have  been  too  much  for  him.  When  I 
arrived  at  five  minutes  to  seven,  Turpey,  the 
wounded  lieutenant,  met  me  in  the  hall  with  a 
face  of  ill  omen. 

*'  It's  all  up  with  Whitehall,"  said  he. 

'•  What's  the  matter  ?  " 


On  the  sofa  was  stretched  our  unfortunate  host. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


309 


"  Blind,  speechless  and  paralytic.  Come  and 
look." 

The  table  in  his  room  was  nicely  laid  for 
dinner,  and  several  decanters  with  a  large  cold 
tart  lay  upon  the  sideboard.  On  the  sofa  was 
stretched  our  unfortunate  host,  his  head  back, 
his  forked  beard  pointing  to  the  cornice,  and  a 
half  finished  tumbler  of  whisky  upon  the  chair 
beside  him.  All  our  shakes  and  shouts  could 
not  break  in  upon  that  serene  drunkenness. 

"  What   are   we  to  do  ?  "    gasped   Turpey. 

'*  We  must  not  let  him  make  an  exhibition 
of  himself.  We  had  better  get  him  away  before 
any  one  else  arrives." 

So  we  bore  him  off,  all  in  coils  and  curves 
like  a  dead  python,  and  deposited  him  upon  his 
bed.  When  we  returned  three  other  guests  had 
arrived. 

'*  You'll  be  sorry  to  hear  that  Whitehall  is 
not  very  well,"  said  Turpey.  *'  Dr.  Munro 
thought  it  would  be  better  that  he  should  not 
come  down." 

''  In  fact,  I  have  ordered  him  to  bed," 
said  I. 

"  Then    I    move    that    Mr.    Turpey    be    called 


310 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


upon  to  act  as  host,"  said    one    of   the  new  com- 
ers ;   and  so  it  was  at  once  agreed. 

Presently  the  other  men  arrived ;  but  there 
was  no  sign  of  the  dinner.  We  waited  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  but  nothing  appeared.  The 
landlady  was  summoned,  but  could  give  no  in- 
formation. 

"  Captain  Whitehall  ordered  it  from  a  con- 
fectioner's, sir,"  said  she,  in  reply  to  the  lieu- 
tenant's cross-examination.  ^'  He  did  not  tell  me 
which  confectioner's.  It  might  have  been  any 
one  of  four  or  five.  He  only  said  that  it  would 
all  come  right,  and  that  I  should  bake  an  apple 
tart." 

Another  quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  and  we 
were  all  ravenous.  It  was  evident  that  White- 
hall had  made  some  mistake.  We  began  to  roll 
our  eyes  towards  the  apple  pie,  as  the  boat's 
crew  does  towards  the  boy  in  the  stories  of 
shipwreck.  A  large  hairy  man,  with  an  anchor 
tattooed  upon  his  hand,  rose  and  set  the  pie  in 
front  of  Turpey. 

"  What  d'you  say,  gentlemen, — shall  I  serve 
it  out?" 

We  all  drew  up   at   the  table  with  a  decision 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  3H 

which  made  words  superfluous.  In  five  minutes 
the  pie  dish  was  as  clean  as  when  the  cook  first 
saw  it.  And  our  ill-luck  vanished  with  the  pie. 
A  minute  later  the  landlady's  son  entered  with 
the  soup  ;  and  cod's  head,  roast  beef,  game  and 
ice  pudding-  followed  in  due  succession.  It  all 
came  from  some  misunderstanding  about  time. 
But  we  did  them  justice,  in  spite  of  the  curious 
hors  d'ociivre  with  which  we  had  started ;  and  a 
pleasanter  dinner  or  a  more  enjoyable  evening  I 
have  seldom  had. 

''  Sorry  I  was  so  bowled  over.  Dr.  Munro, 
sir,"  said  Whitehall  next  morning.  ''  I  need 
hilly  country  and  a  bracing  air,  not  a cro- 
quet lawn  like  this.     Well,  I'm glad  to  hear 

that  you  gentlemen  enjoyed  yourselves,  and  I 
hope  you  found  everything  to  your  satisfac- 
tion." 

I  assured  him  that  we  did  ;  but  I  had  not 
the  heart  to  tell  him   about  the  apple  pie. 

I  tell  you  these  trivial  matters,  my  dear 
Bertie,  just  to  show  you  that  I  am  not  down 
on  my  luck,  and  that  my  fife  is  not  pitched  in 
the  minor  key  altogether,  in  spite  of  my  queer 
situation.     But,   to  turn  to  graver  things :    I  was 


312 


THE   STARK    MONRO   LETTERS. 


right  glad  to  get  your  letter,  and  to  read  all 
your  denunciations  about  dogmatic  science. 
Don't  imagine  that  my  withers  are  wrung  by 
what  you  say,  for  I  agree  with  almost  every 
word  of  it. 

The  man  who  claims  that  we  can  know  noth- 
ing is,  to  my  mind,  as  unreasonable  as  he  who 
insists  that  everything  has  been  divinely  re- 
vealed to  us.  I  know  nothing  more  unbearable 
than  the  complacent  type  of  scientist  who  knows 
very  exactly  all  that  he  does  know,  but  has  not 
imagination  enough  to  understand  what  a  speck 
his  little  accumulation  of  doubtful  erudition  is 
when  compared  with  the  immensity  of  our  igno- 
rance. He  is  the  person  who  thinks  that  the 
universe  can  be  explained  by  laws,  as  if  a  law 
did  not  require  construction  as  well  as  a  world  ! 
The  motion  of  the  engine  can  be  explained  by  the 
laws  of  physics,  but  that  has  not  made  the  fore- 
gf)ing  presence  of  an  engineer  less  obvious.  In 
this  world,  however,  part  of  the  beautiful  poise 
of  things  depends  upon  the  fact  that  whenever 
you  have  an  exaggerated  fanatic  of  any  sort,  his 
exact  opposite  at  once  springs  up  to  neutralise 
him.     You  have    a    Mameluke  :    up  jumps  a  Cru- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  313 

sader.  You  have  a  Fenian  :  up  jumps  an 
Orang-eman.  Every  force  has  its  recoil.  And  so 
these  more  hide-bound  scientists  must  be  set 
against  those  gentlemen  who  still  believe  that 
the  world  was  created  in  the  year  4004  B.  c. 

After  all,  true  science  must  be  synonymous 
with  religion,  since  science  is  the  acquirement  of 
fact ;  and  facts  are  all  that  we  have  from  which  to 
deduce  what  we  are  and  whv  we  are  here.  But 
surely  the  more  we  pry  into  the  methods  by  which 
results  are  brougt  about,  the  more  stupendous  and 
wonderful  becomes  the  great  unseen  power  which 
lies  behind,  the  power  which  drifts  the  solar  sys- 
tem in  safety  through  space,  and  yet  adjusts  the 
length  of  the  insects  proboscis  to  the  depth  of  the 
honey-bearing  flower.  What  is  that  central  intelli- 
gence? You  may  fit  up  your  dogmatic  scientist 
with  a  300-diameter  microscope,  and  with  a  tele- 
scope with  a  six-foot  speculum,  but  neither  near 
nor  far  can  he  get  a  trace  of  that  great  driving 
power. 

What  should  we  say  of  a  man  who  has  a  great 

and  beautiful  picture  submitted  to  him,  and  who, 

having  satisfied  himself  that  the  account  given  of 

the  painting  of  the   picture   is  incorrect,   at  once 
21 


314 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


concludes  that  no  one  ever  painted  it,  or  at  least 
asserts  that  he  has  no  possible  means  of  knowing 
whether  an  artist  has  produced  it  or  not?  That  is, 
as  it  seems  to  me,  a  fair  statement  of  the  position 
of  some  of  the  more  extreme  agnostics.  ''  Is  not 
the  mere  existence  of  the  picture  in  itself  a  proof 
that  a  skilful  artist  has  been  busied  upon  it  ?  "  one 
might  ask.  "  Why,  no,"  says  the  objector.  "  It  is 
possible  that  the  picture  produced  itself  by  the  aid 
of  certain  rules.  Besides,  when  the  picture  was 
first  submitted  to  me  I  was  assured  that  it  had  all 
been  produced  within  a  week,  but  by  examining 
it  I  am  able  to  say  with  certainty  that  it  has  taken 
a  considerable  time  to  put  together.  I  am  there- 
fore of  opinion  that  it  is  questionable  whether  any 
one  ever  painted  it  at  all." 

Leaving  this  exaggerated  scientific  caution  on 
the  one  side,  and  faith  on  the  other,  as  being  equally 
indefensible,  there  remains  the  clear  line  of  reason- 
ing that  a  universe  implies  the  existence  of  a  uni- 
verse maker,  and  that  we  may  deduce  from  it  some 
of  His  attributes.  His  power,  His  wisdom.  His 
forethought  for  small  wants,  His  providing  of 
luxuries  for  His  creatures.  On  the  other  hand,  do 
not   let  us  be  disingenuous  enough    to  shirk   the 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  315 

mystery  which  lies  in  pain,  in  cruelty,  in  all  which 
seems  to  be  a  slur  upon  His  work.  The  best  that 
we  can  say  for  them  is  to  hope  that  they  are  not 
as  bad  as  they  seem,  and  possibly  lead  to  some 
higher  end.  The  voices  of  the  ill-used  child  and 
of  the  tortured  animal  are  the  hardest  of  all  for  the 
philosopher  to  answer. 

Good-bye,  old  chap  !  It  is  quite  delightful  to 
think  that  on  one  point  at  least  we  are  in  agree- 
ment. 


XIV. 

I  Oakley  Villas,  Birchespool,  i^th  Jamiary,  iS8j. 

You  write  reproachfully,  my  dear  Bertie,  and 
you  say  that  absence  must  have  weakened  our 
close  friendship,  since  I  have  not  sent  you  a  line 
durins:  this  lonsf  seven  months.  The  real  truth  of 
the  matter  is  that  I  had  not  the  heart  to  write  to 
you  until  I  could  tell  you  something  cheery  ;  and 
something  cheery  has  been  terribly  long  in  com- 
ing. At  present  I  can  only  claim  that  the  cloud 
has  perhaps  thinned  a  little  at  the  edges. 

You  see  by  the  address  of  this  letter  that  I  still 
hold  my  ground,  but  between  ourselves  it  has  been 
a  terrible  fight,  and  there  have  been  times  when 
that  last  plank  of  which  old  Whitehall  wrote 
seemed  to  be  slipping  out  of  my  clutch.  I  have 
ebbed  and  flowed,  sometimes  with  a  little  money, 
sometimes  without.  At  my  best  I  was  living  hard, 
at  my  worst  I  was  very  close  upon  starvation.  I 
have  lived    for  a  whole  day  upon    the  crust  of   a 

31G 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


317 


loaf,  when  I  had  ten  pounds  in  silver  in  the  drawer 
of  my  table.  But  those  ten  pounds  had  been  most 
painfully  scraped  together  for  my  quarter's  rent, 
and  1  would  have  tried  twenty-four  hours  with  a 
tight  leather  belt  before  I  would  have  broken  in 
upon  it.  For  two  days  I  could  not  raise  a  stamp 
to  send  a  letter.  I  have  smiled  when  I  have  read 
in  my  evening  paper  of  the  privations  of  our  fel- 
lows in  Egypt.  Their  broken  victuals  would  have 
been  a  banquet  to  me.  However,  what  odds  how 
you  take  your  carbon  and  nitrogen  and  oxygen,  as 
long  as  you  do  get  it  ?  The  garrison  of  Oakley 
Villa  has  passed  the  worst,  and  there  is  no  talk  of 
surrender. 

It  was  not  that  I  have  had  no  patients.  They 
have  come  in  as  well  as  could  be  expected.  Some, 
like  the  little  old  maid,  who  was  the  first,  never 
returned.  I  fancy  that  a  doctor  who  opened  his 
own  door  forfeited  their  confidence.  Others  have 
become  warm  partisans.  But  they  have  nearly  all 
been  very  poor  people ;  and  when  you  consider 
how  many  one  and  sixpences  are  necessar}-  in 
order  to  make  up  the  fifteen  pounds  which  I  must 
find  every  quarter  for  rent,  taxes,  gas  and  water, 
you  will  understand  that  even  with  some  success, 


3i: 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


I  have  still  found  it  a  hard  matter  to  keep  anything 
in  the  portmanteau  which  serves  me  as  larder. 
However,  my  boy,  two  quarters  are  paid  up,  and 
I  enter  upon  a  third  one  with  my  courage  un- 
abated. I  have  lost  about  a  stone,  but  not  my 
heart. 

I  have  rather  a  vague  recollection  of  when  it 
was  exactly  that  my  last  was  written.  I  fancy  that 
it  must  have  been  a  fortnight  after  my  start,  imme- 
diately after  my  breach  with  Cullingworth.  It's 
rather  hard  to  know  where  to  begin  when  one  has 
so  many  events  to  narrate,  disconnected  from  each 
other,  and  trivial  in  themselves,  yet  which  have 
each  loomed  large  as  I  came  upon  them  ;  though 
they  look  small  enough  now  that  they  are  so  far 
astern.  As  I  have  mentioned  Cullingworth,  I  may 
as  well  say  first  the  little  that  is  to  be  said  about 
him.  I  answered  his  letter  in  the  way  which  I 
have,  I  think,  already  described.  I  hardly  ex- 
pected to  hear  from  him  again ;  but  my  note  had 
evidently  stung  him,  and  I  had  a  brusque  message 
in  which  he  said  that  if  I  wished  him  to  believe  in 
my  *'  bona-fides  "  (whatever  he  may  have  meant  by 
that),  I  would  return  the  money  which  I  had  had 
during  the  time  that  I  was  with  him  at   Bradfield. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  310 

To  this  I  replied  that  the  sum  was  about  twelve 
pounds ;  that  I  still  retained  the  message  in  which 
he  had  guaranteed  me  three  hundred  pounds  if  1 
came  to  Bradfield,  that  the  balance  in  my  favour 
was  two  hundred  and  eighty -eight  pounds ;  and 
that  unless  I  had  a  cheque  by  return,  1  should  put 
the  matter  into  the  hands  of  my  solicitor.  This 
put  a  final  end   to  our  correspondence. 

There  was  one  other  incident,  however.  One 
day  after  I  had  been  in  practice  about  two  months, 
I  observed  a  bearded  commonplace-looking  person 
lounging  about  on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  In 
the  afternoon  he  was  again  visible  from  my  con- 
sulting-room window.  When  I  saw  him  there 
once  more  next  morning,  my  suspicions  were 
aroused,  and  they  became  certainties  when,  a  day 
or  so  afterwards,  I  came  out  of  a  patient's  house  in 
a  poor  street,  and  saw  the  same  fellow  looking  into 
a  greengrocer's  shop  upon  the  other  side.  I 
walked  to  the  end  of  the  street,  waited  round  the 
corner,  and  met  him  as  he  came  hurrying  after. 

''  You  can  go  back  to  Dr.  CuUingworth,  and 
tell  him  that  I  have  as  much  to  do  as  I  care  for," 
said  I.  *'  If  you  spy  upon  me  after  this  it  will  be 
at  your  own  risk." 


320 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


He  shuffled  and  coloured,  but  I  walked  on  and 
saw  him  no  more.  There  was  no  one  on  earth 
who  could  have  had  a  motive  for  wanting  to  know 
exactly  what  I  was  doing  except  Culiingworth ; 
and  the  man's  silence  was  enough  in  itself  to  prove 
that  I  was  right.  I  have  heard  nothing  of  Culiing- 
worth since. 

I  had  a  letter  from  my  uncle  in  the  Artillerj^ 
Sir  Alexander  Munro,  shortly  after  my  start,  tell- 
ing me  that  he  had  heard  of  my  proceedings  from 
my  mother,  and  that  he  hoped  to  learn  of  my  suc- 
cess. He  is,  as  I  think  you  know,  an  ardent  Wes- 
leyan,  like  all  my  father's  people,  and  he  told  me 
that  the  chief  Wesleyan  minister  in  the  town  was 
an  old  friend  of  his  own,  that  he  had  learned  from 
him  that  there  was  no  Wesleyan  doctor,  and  that, 
being  of  a  Wesleyan  stock  myself,  if  I  would  pre- 
sent the  enclosed  letter  of  introduction  to  the  min- 
ister, I  should  certainly  find  it  very  much  to  my 
advantage.  I  thought  it  over,  Bertie,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  it  would  be  playing  it  rather 
low  down  to  use  a  religious  organisation  to  my 
own  advantage,  when  I  condemned  them  in  the 
abstract.  It  was  a  sore  temptation,  but  I  de- 
stroyed the  letter. 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  321 

I  had  one  or  two  pieces  of  luck  in  the  way  of 
accidental  cases.  One  (which  was  of  immense  im- 
portance to  me)  was  that  of  a  grocer  named  Hay- 
wood, who  fell  down  in  a  fit  outside  the  floor  of 
his  shop.  1  was  passing  on  my  way  to  see  a  poor 
labourer  with  typhoid.  You  may  believe  that  I 
saw  my  chance,  bustled  in,  treated  the  man,  con- 
ciliated the  wife,  tickled  the  child,  and  gained  over 
the  whole  household.  He  had  these  attacks  peri- 
odically, and  made  an  arrangement  with  me  by 
w^hich  I  was  to  deal  with  him,  and  we  were  to  bal- 
ance bills  against  each  other.  It  was  a  ghoulish 
compact,  by  which  a  fit  to  him  meant  butter  and 
bacon  to  me,  while  a  spell  of  health  for  Haywood 
sent  me  back  to  dry  bread  and  saveloys.  How- 
ever, it  enabled  me  to  put  by  for  the  rent  many  a 
shilling  which  must  otherwise  have  gone  in  food. 
At  last,  however,  the  poor  fellow  died,  and  there 
was  our  final  settlement. 

Two  small  accidents  occurred  near  my  door 
(it  was  a  busy  crossing),  and  though  I  got  little 
enough  from  either  of  them,  I  ran  down  to  the 
newspaper  office  on  each  occasion,  and  had  the 
gratification  of  seeing  in  the  evening  edition  that 
''the  driver,  though   much  shaken,  is  pronounced 


322 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


by  Dr.  Stark  Munro,  of  Oakley  Villa,  to  have  suf- 
fered no  serious  injury."  As  Cullingworth  used 
to  say,  it  is  hard  enough  for  the  young  doctor  to 
push  his  name  into  any  publicity,  and  he  must  take 
what  little  chances  he  has.  Perhaps  the  fathers  of 
the  profession  would  shake  their  heads  over  such  a 
proceeding  in  a  little  provincial  journal ;  but  I  was 
never  able  to  see  that  any  of  them  were  very 
averse  from  seeing  their  own  names  appended  to 
the  bulletin  of  some  sick  statesman  in  TJie   Times. 

And  then  there  came  another  and  a  more  seri- 
ous accident.  This  would  be  about  two  months 
after  the  beginning,  though  already  I  find  it  hard 
to  put  things  in  their  due  order.  A  lawyer  in  the 
town  named  Dickson  was  riding  past  my  windows 
when  the  horse  reared  up  and  fell  upon  him.  I 
was  eating  saveloys  in  the  back  room  at  the  time, 
but  I  heard  the  noise  and  rushed  to  the  door  in 
time  to  meet  the  crowd  who  were  carrying  him  in. 
They  flooded  into  my  house,  thronged  my  hall, 
dirtied  my  consulting  room,  and  even  pushed  their 
way  into  my  back  room,  which  they  found  ele- 
gantly furnished  with  a  portmanteau,  a  lump  of 
bread,  and  a  cold  sausage. 

However,  I  had  no  thought  for  any  one  but  my 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


323 


patient,  who  was  groaning  most  dreadfully.  I  saw 
that  his  ribs  were  right,  tested  his  joints,  ran  my 
hand  down  his  limbs,  and  concluded  that  there  was 
no  break  or  dislocation.  He  had  strained  himself 
in  such  a  way,  however,  that  it  was  very  painful  to 
him  to  sit  or  to  walk.  I  sent  for  an  open  carriage, 
therefore,  and  conveyed  him  to  his  home,  I  sitting 
with  my  most  professional  air,  and  he  standing 
straight  up  between  my  hands.  The  carriage 
went  at  a  walk,  and  the  crowd  trailed  behind,  with 
all  the  folk  looking  out  of  the  w^indows,  so  that  a 
more  glorious  advertisement  could  not  be  con- 
ceived. It  looked  like  the  advance  guard  of  a  cir- 
cus. Once  at  his  house,  however,  professional 
etiquette  demanded  that  I  should  hand  the  case 
over  to  the  family  attendant,  which  I  did  with  as 
good  a  grace  as  possible — not  without  some  linger- 
ing hope  that  the  old  established  practitioner  might 
say,  *'  You  have  taken  such  very  good  care  of  my 
patient.  Dr.  Munro,  that  I  should  not  dream  of  re- 
moving him  from  your  hands."  On  the  contrary, 
he  snatched  it  away  from  me  with  avidity,  and  I 
retired  with  some  credit,  an  excellent  advertise- 
ment, and  a  guinea. 

These  are  one  or  two  of  the  points  of  interest 


324 


THE   STARK   MUNRO   LETTERS. 


which  show  above  the  dead  monotony  of  my 
life — small  enough,  as  you  see,  but  even  a  sandhill 
looms  large  in  Holland.  In  the  main,  it  is  a  dreary 
sordid  record  of  shillings  gained  and  shillings 
spent — of  scraping  for  this  and  scraping  for  that, 
with  ever  some  fresh  slip  of  blue  paper  fluttering 
down  upon  me,  left  so  jauntily  by  the  tax-collector, 
and  meaning  such  a  dead-weight  pull  to  me.  The 
irony  of  my  paying  a  poor-rate  used  to  amuse  me. 
I  should  have  been  collecting  it.  Thrice  at  a  crisis 
I  pawned  my  watch,  and  thrice  I  rallied  and  res- 
cued it.  But  how  am  I  to  interest  3'ou  in  the  de- 
tails of  such  a  career?  Now,  if  a  fair  countess  had 
been  so  good  as  to  slip  on  a  piece  of  orange  peel 
before  my  door,  or  if  the  chief  merchant  in  the 
town  had  been  saved  by  some  tour-dc-force  upon 
my  part,  or  if  I  had  been  summoned  out  at  mid- 
night to  attend  some  nameless  person  in  a  lonely 
house  with  a  princely  fee  for  silence — then  I 
should  have  something  w^orthy  of  your  attention. 
But  the  long  months  and  months  during  which  I 
listened  to  the  throb  of  the  charwoman's  heart  and 
the  rustle  of  the  greengrocer's  lungs,  present  little 
which  is  not  dull  and  dreary.  No  good  angels 
came  my  way. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


o  ^  rf 


Wait  a  bit,  though !  One  did.  I  was  awak- 
ened at  six  in  the  morning  one  day  by  a  ringing  at 
my  bell,  and  creeping  to  the  angle  of  the  stair  I 
saw  through  the  glass  a  stout  gentleman  in  a  top- 
hat  outside.  Much  excited,  with  a  thousand 
guesses  capping  one  another  in  my  head,  I  ran 
back,  pulled  on  some  clothes,  rushed  down,  opened 
the  door,  and  found  myself  in  the  grey  morning 
light  face  to  face  with  Horton.  The  good  fellow 
had  come  down  from  Merton  in  an  excursion  train, 
and  had  been  travelling  all  night.  He  had  an  um- 
brella under  his  arm,  and  two  great  straw  baskets 
in  each  hand,  which  contained,  when  unpacked,  a 
cold  leg  of  mutton,  half-a-dozen  of  beer,  a  bottle  of 
port,  and  all  sorts  of  pasties  and  luxuries.  We 
had  a  great  day  together,  and  when  he  rejoined 
his  excursion  in  the  evening  he  left  a  very  much 
cheerier  man  than  he  had  found. 

Talking  of  cheeriness,  3'ou  misunderstand  me, 
Bertie,  if  you  think  (as  you  seem  to  imply)  that  I 
take  a  dark  view  of  things.  It  is  true  that  I  dis- 
card some  consolations  which  you  possess,  be- 
cause I  cannot  convince  myself  that  they  are  gen- 
uine ;  but  in  this  world,  at  least,  I  see  immense 
reason  for  hope,  and  as  to  the  next  I  am  confident 


326  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

that  all  will  be  for  the  best.  From  annihilation  to 
beatification  I  am  ready  to  adapt  myself  to  what- 
ever the  great  Designer's  secret  plan  my  be. 

But  there  is  much  in  the  prospects  of  this 
w^orld  to  set  a  man's  heart  singing.  Good  is  rising 
and  evil  sinking  like  oil  and  water  in  a  bottle. 
The  race  is  improving.  There  are  far  fewer  crimi- 
nal convictions.  There  is  far  more  education. 
People  sin  less  and  think  more.  When  I  meet  a 
brutal  looking  fellow  I  often  think  that  he  and  his 
type  may  soon  be  as  extinct  as  the  great  auk.  I 
am  not  sure  that  in  the  interest  of  the  'ologies  we 
ought  not  to  pickle  a  few  specimens  of  Bill  Sykes, 
to  show  our  children's  children  what  sort  of  a  per- 
son he  was. 

And  then  the  more  we  progress  the  more  we 
tend  to  progress.  We  advance  not  in  arithmetical 
but  in  geometrical  progression.  We  draw  com- 
pound interest  on  the  whole  capital  of  knowledge 
and  virtue  which  has  been  accumulated  since  the 
dawning  of  time.  Some  eighty  thousand  years  are 
supposed  to  have  existed  between  paleolithic  and 
neolithic  man.  Yet  in  all  that  time  he  only 
learned  to  grind  his  flint  stones  instead  of  chip- 
ping   them.     But    within    our    father's    lives  what 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  327 

changes  have  there  not  been  ?  The  railway  and 
the  telegraph,  chloroform  and  applied  electricity. 
Ten  years  now  go  further  than  a  thousand  then, 
not  so  much  on  account  of  our  finer  intellects  as 
because  the  light  we  have  shows  us  the  way  to 
more.  Primeval  man  stumbled  along  with  peer- 
ing eyes,  and  slow,  uncertain  footsteps.  Now  we 
walk  briskly  towards  our  unknown  goal. 

And  I  wonder  what  that  goal  is  to  be !  I 
mean,  of  course,  as  far  as  this  world  is  concerned. 
Ever  since  man  first  scratched  hieroglyphics  upon 
an  ostracon,  or  scribbled  with  sepia  upon  papyrus, 
he  must  have  wondered,  as  we  wonder  to-day.  I 
suppose  that  we  do  know  a  little  more  than  they. 
We  have  an  arc  of  about  three  thousand  years 
given  us,  from  which  to  calculate  out  the  course  to 
be  described  by  our  descendants;  but  that  arc  is 
so  tiny  when  compared  to  the  vast  ages  which 
Providence  uses  in  working  out  its  designs  that 
our  deductions  from  it  must,  I  think,  be  uncertain. 
Will  civilisation  be  swamped  by  barbarism?  It 
happened  once  before,  because  the  civilised  were 
tiny  specks  of  light  in  the  midst  of  darkness. 
But  what,  for  example,  could  break  down  the  great 
country  in  which  you  dwell?     No,  our  civilisation 


328  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

will  endure  and  grow  more  complex.  Man  will 
live  in  the  air  and  below  the  water.  Preventive 
medicine  will  develop  until  old  age  shall  become 
the  sole  cause  of  death.  Education  and  a  more 
socialistic  scheme  of  society  will  do  away  with 
crime.  The  English-speaking  races  will  unite,  with 
their  centre  in  the  United  States.  Gradually  the 
European  States  will  follow  their  example.  War 
will  become  rare,  but  more  terrible.  The  forms 
of  religion  will  be  abandoned,  but  the  essence  will 
be  maintained  ;  so  that  one  universal  creed  will 
embrace  the  whole  civilised  earth,  which  will 
preach  trust  in  that  central  power,  which  will  be 
as  unknown  then  as  now.  That's  my  horoscope, 
and  after  that  the  solar  system  may  be  ripe  for 
picking.  But  Bertie  Swanborough  and  Stark 
Munro  will  be  blowing  about  on  the  west  wind, 
and  dirtying  the  panes  of  careful  housewives  long 
before  the  half  of  it  has  come  to  pass. 

And  then  man  himself  will  change,  of  course. 
The  teeth  are  going  rapidly.  You've  onl}-  to 
count  the  dentists'  brass  plates  in  Birchespool  to 
be  sure  of  that.  And  the  hair  also.  And  the 
sight.  Instinctively,  when  we  think  of  the  more 
advanced  type  of  young  man,  we  picture  him  as 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


329 


bald,  and  with  double  eye-glasses.  I  am  an  abso- 
lute animal  myself,  and  my  onl}^  sign  of  advance  is 
that  two  of  my  back  teeth  are  going.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  is  some  evidence  in  favour  of  the 
development  of  a  sixth  sense — that  of  perception. 
If  I  had  it  now  I  should  know  that  you  are  heartily 
weary  of  all  my  generalisations  and  dogmatism. 

And  certainly  there  must  be  a  spice  of  dogma- 
tism in  it  when  we  begin  laying  down  laws  about 
the  future  ;  for  how  do  we  know  that  there  are  not 
phases  of  nature  coming  upon  us  of  which  we  have 
formed  no  conception  ?  After  all,  a  few  seconds 
are  a  longer  fraction  of  a  day  than  an  average  life 
is  of  the  period  during  which  we  know  that  the 
world  has  been  in  existence.  But  if  a  man  lived 
only  for  a  few  seconds  of  daylight,  his  son  the 
same,  and  his  son  the  same,  what  would  their 
united  experiences  after  a  hundred  generations  tell 
them  of  the  phenomenon  which  we  call  night?  So 
all  our  history  and  knowledge  is  no  guarantee  that 
our  earth  is  not  destined  for  experiences  of  which 
we  can  form  no  conception. 

But  to  drop  down  from  the  universe  to  my 
own  gnat's  buzz  of  an  existence,  I  think  I  have 
told  you  everything    that    might   interest   you  of 


330  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

the  first  six  months  of  my  venture.  Towards 
the  end  of  that  time  my  little  brother  Paul 
came  down — and  the  best  of  companions  he  is! 
He  shares  the  discomforts  of  my  little  manage  in 
the  cheeriest  spirit,  takes  me  out  of  my  blacker 
humours,  goes  long  walks  with  me,  is  interested 
in  all  that  interests  me  (I  always  talk  to  him 
exactly  as  if  he  were  of  my  own  age),  and  is 
quite  ready  to  turn  his  hand  to  anything,  from 
boot-blacking  to  medicine-carrying.  His  one  dis- 
sipation is  cutting  out  of  paper,  or  buying  in 
lead  (on  the  rare  occasion  when  we  find  a  sur- 
plus), an  army  of  little  soldiers.  I  have  brought 
a  patient  into  the  consulting  room,  and  found  a 
torrent  of  cavalry,  infantry,  and  artillery  pouring 
across  the  table.  I  have  been  myself  attacked 
as  I  sat  silently  writing,  and  have  looked  up 
to  find  fringes  of  sharp-shooters  pushing  up 
towards  me,  columns  of  infantry  in  reserve,  a 
troop  of  cavalry  on  my  flank,  while  a  battery  of 
pea  muzzle-loaders  on  the  ridge  of  my  medical 
dictionary  has  raked  my  whole  position — with 
the  round,  smiling  face  of  the  general  behind  it 
all.  I  don't  know  how  many  regiments  he  has 
on  a  peace  footing  ;    but   if   serious    trouble  were 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


331 


to  break  out,  I  am  convinced  that  every  sheet 
of  paper  in  the  house  would  spring  to 
arms. 

One  morning  I  had  a  great  idea  which  has 
had  the  effect  of  revolutionising  our  domestic 
economy.  It  was  at  the  time  when  the  worst 
pinch  was  over,  and  when  we  had  got  back  as 
far  as  butter  and  occasional  tobacco,  with  a 
milkman  calling  daily  ;  which  gives  you  a  great 
sense  of  swagger  when  you  have  not  been  used 
to  it. 

"  Paul,  my  boy,"  said  I,  "  I  see  my  way  to 
fitting  up  this  house  with  a  whole  staff  of  serv- 
ants for   nothing." 

He  looked  pleased,  but  not  surprised.  He 
had  a  wholly  unwarranted  confidence  in  my 
powers ;  so  that  if  I  had  suddenly  declared 
that  I  saw  my  way  to  tilting  Queen  Victoria 
from  her  throne  and  seating  myself  upon  it,  he 
would  have  come  without  a  question  to  aid 
and  abet. 

I  took  a  piece  of  paper  and  wrote,  "  To 
Let.  A  basement  floor,  in  exchange  for  services. 
Apply    I    Oakley   Villas." 

"There,    Paul,"    said    I,    ''run    down    to    the 


332 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


Evening  News  office,  and  pay  a  shilling  for  three 
insertions." 

There  was  no  need  of  three  insertions.  One 
would  have  been  ample.  Within  half  an  hour 
of  the  appearance  of  the  first  edition,  I  had 
an  applicant  at  the  end  of  my  bell-wire,  and 
for  the  remainder  of  the  evenins:  Paul  was 
ushering  them  in  and  I  interviewing  them  with 
hardly  a  break.  I  should  have  been  prepared 
at  the  outset  to  take  anything  in  a  petticoat ; 
but  as  we  saw  the  demand  increase,  our  con- 
ditions went  up  and  up  ;  white  aprons,  proper 
dress  for  answering  door,  doing  beds  and  boots, 
cooking, — we  became  more  and  more  exacting. 
So  at  last  we  made  our  selection  ;  a  Miss  Wot- 
ton,  who  asked  leave  to  bring  her  sister  with 
her.  She  was  a  hard-faced  brusque-mannered 
person,  whose  appearance  in  a  bachelor's  house- 
hold was  not  likely  to  cause  a  scandal.  Her 
nose  was  in  itself  a  certificate  of  virtue.  She 
was  to  bring  her  furniture  into  the  basement, 
and  I  was  to  give  her  and  her  sister  one  of 
the  two  upper  rooms  for  a  bedroom. 

They  moved  in  a  few  days  later.  I  was  out 
at   the    time,  and    the    first  intimation    I   had  was 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  333 

finding  three  little  dogs  in  my  hall  when  I  re- 
turned. I  had  her  up,  and  explained  that  this 
was  a  breach  of  contract,  and  that  I  had  no 
thoughts  of  running  a  menagerie.  She  pleaded 
very  hard  for  her  little  dogs,  which  it  seems 
are  a  mother  and  two  daughters  of  some  rare 
breed  ;  so  I  at  last  gave  in  on  the  point.  The 
other  sister  appeared  to  lead  a  subterranean 
troglodytic  sort  of  existence ;  for,  though  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  whisking  round  the 
corner  at  times,  it  was  a  good  month  before  I 
could  have  sworn  to  her  in  a   police  court. 

For  a  time  the  arrangement  worked  well,  and 
then  there  came  complications.  One  morning, 
coming  down  earlier  than  usual,  I  saw  a  small 
bearded  man  undoing  the  inside  chain  of  my 
door.  I  captured  him  before  he  could  get  it 
open.     ''Well,"  said    I,  "what's  this?" 

''  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  he,  *'  I'm  Miss 
Wotton's  husband." 

Dreadful  doubts  of  my  housekeeper  flashed 
across  my  mind,  but  I  thought  of  her  nose  and 
was  reassured.  An  examination  revealed  every- 
thing. She  was  a  married  woman.  The  lines 
were    solemnly    produced.       Her    husband    was  a 


234  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

seaman.  She  had  passed  as  a  miss,  because  she 
thought  I  was  more  likely  to  take  a  house- 
keeper without  encumbrances.  Her  husband  had 
come  home  unexpectedly  from  a  long  voyage, 
and  had  returned  last  night.  And  then — plot 
within  plot — the  other  woman  was  not  her  sis- 
ter, but  a  friend,  whose  name  was  Miss  Will- 
iams. She  thought  I  was  more  likely  to  take 
two  sisters  than  two  friends.  So  we  all  came  to 
know  who  the  other  was  ;  and  I,  having  given 
Jack  permission  to  remain,  assigned  the  other 
top  room  to  Miss  Williams.  From  absolute  soli- 
tude I  seemed  to  be  rapidly  developing  into  the 
keeper  of  a  casual  ward. 

It  was  a  never-failing  source  of  joy  to  us  to 
see  the  procession  pass  on  the  way  to  their 
rooms  at  night.  First  came  a  dog ;  then  Miss 
Williams,  with  a  candle  ;  then  Jack ;  then  an- 
other dog ;  and  finally,  Mrs.  Wotton,  with  her 
candle  in  one  hand  and  another  dog  under  her 
arm.  Jack  was  with  us  for  three  weeks  ;  and  as 
I  made  him  holystone  the  whole  place  down 
twice  a  week  until  the  boards  were  like  a  quar- 
ter deck,  we  got  something  out  of  him  in  return 
for  his  lodging. 


THE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS.  335 

About  this  time,  finding  a  few  shillings  over 
and  no  expense  imminent,  I  laid  down  a  cellar, 
in  the  shape  of  a  four  and  a  half  gallon  cask  of 
beer,  with  a  firm  resolution  that  it  should  never 
be  touched  save  on  high  days  and  holidays,  or 
when  guests  had  to  be  entertained.  Shortly 
afterwards  Jack  went  away  to  sea  again  ;  and 
after  his  departure  there  were  several  furious 
quarrels  between  the  women  down  below,  which 
filled  the  whole  house  with  treble  reproaches 
and  repartees.  At  last  one  evening  Miss  Will- 
iams— the  quiet  one — came  to  me  and  announced 
with  sobs  that  she  must  go.  Mrs.  Wotton  made 
her  life  unbearable,  she  said.  She  was  deter- 
mined to  be  independent,  and  had  fitted  up  a 
small  shop  in  a  poor  quarter  of  the  town.  She 
was  going  now,  at  once,  to  take  possession  of  it. 

I  was  sorry,  because  I  liked  Miss  Williams, 
and  I  said  a  few  words  to  that  effect.  She  got 
as  far  as  the  hall  door,  and  then  came  rustling 
back  again  into  the  consulting  room.  "  Take  a 
drink  of  your  own  beer !  "  she  cried,  and  van- 
ished. 

It  sounded  like  some  sort  of  slang  impreca- 
tion.    If  she  had  said  '*  Oh,  pull  up  your  socks ! " 


336  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

I  should  have  been  less  surprised.  And  then 
suddenly  the  words  took  a  dreadful  meaning  in 
my  mind,  and  I  rushed  to  the  cellar.  The  cask 
was  tilted  forward  on  the  trestles.  I  struck  it 
and  it  boomed  like  a  drum.  I  turned  the  tap, 
and  not  one  drop  appeared.  Let  us  draw  a  veil 
over  the  painful  scene.  Suffice  it  that  Mrs. 
Wotton  got  her  marching  orders  then  and  there 
— and  that  next  day  Paul  and  I  found  ourselves 
alone  in  the  empty  house  once  more. 

But  we  were  demoralised  by  luxury.  We 
could  no  longer  manage  without  a  helper — es- 
pecially now  in  the  winter  time,  when  fires  had 
to  be  lit — the  most  heart-breaking  task  that  a 
man  can  undertake.  I  bethought  me  of  the 
quiet  Miss  Williams,  and  hunted  her  up  in  her 
shop.  She  was  quite  willing  to  come,  and  saw 
how  she  could  get  out  of  the  rent ;  but  the  diffi- 
culty lay  with  her  stock.  This  sounded  formi- 
dable at  first,  but  when  I  came  to  learn  that  the 
whole  thing  had  cost  eleven  shillings,  it  did  not 
appear  insurmountable.  In  half  an  hour  my 
watch  was  pawned,  and  the  affair  concluded.  I 
returned  w^ith  an  excellent  housekeeper,  and 
with     a     larger     basketful     of     inferior     Swedish 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


337 


matches,  bootlaces,  cakes  of  black  lead,  and  little 
figures  made  of  sugar  than  I  should  have  thought 
it  possible  to  get  for  the  money.  So  now  we 
have  settled  down,  and  I  hope  that  a  period  of 
comparative  peace  lies  before  us. 

Good-bye,  old  chap,  and  never  think  that  I 
forget  you.  Your  letters  are  read  and  re-read 
with  avidity.  I  think  I  have  every  line  you 
ever  wrote  me.  You  simply  knock  Paley  out 
every  time.  I  am  so  glad  that  you  got  out  of 
that  brewery  business  all  right.  For  a  time  I 
was  really  afraid  that  you  must  either  lose  your 
money  or  else  risk  more  upon  the  shares.  I 
can  only  thank  you  for  your  kind  offer  of  blank 
cheques. 

It  is  wonderful  that  you  should  have  slipped 
back  into  your  American  life  so  easily  after 
your  English  hiatus.  As  you  say,  however,  it  is 
not  a  change  but  only  a  modification,  since  the 
root  idea  is  the  same  in  each.  Is  it  not  strange 
how  the  two  great  brothers  are  led  to  misunder- 
stand each  other?  A  man  is  punished  for 
private  libel  (over  here  at  any  rate),  although 
the  consequences  can  only  be  slight.  But  a  man 
may    perpetrate    international    libel,    which    is    a 


338 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


very  heinous  and  far-reaching-  offence,  and  there 
is  no  law  in  the  world  which  can  punish  him. 
Think  of  the  contemptible  crew  of  journalists 
and  satirists  who  for  ever  picture  the  English- 
man as  haughty  and  h-dropping,  or  the  x\meri- 
can  as  vulgar  and  expectorating.  If  some  mil- 
lionaire would  give  them  all  a  trip  round  the 
world  we  should  have  some  rest — and  if  the 
plug  came  out  of  the  boat  midway  it  would  be 
more  restful  still.  And  your  vote-hunting  politi- 
cians with  their  tail-twisting  campaigns,  and  our 
editors  of  the  supercilious  weeklies  with  their 
inane  tone  of  superiority,  if  they  were  all  aboard 
how  much  clearer  we  should  be  !  Once  more 
adieu,  and  good  luck  ! 


XV. 

I  Oakley  Villas,  Birchespool,  jrd  August,  1883. 

Do  you  think  that  such  a  thing  as  chance 
exists  ?  Rather  an  explosive  sentence  to  start  a 
letter  with  ;  but  pray  cast  your  mind  back  over 
your  own  life,  and  tell  me  if  you  think  that  we 
really  are  the  sports  of  chance.  You  know  how 
often  the  turning-  down  this  street  or  that,  the 
accepting  or  rejecting  of  an  invitation,  may  de- 
flect the  whole  current  of  our  lives  into  some 
other  channel.  Are  we  mere  leaves,  fluttered 
hither  and  thither  by  the  wind,  or  are  we 
rather,  with  every  conviction  that  we  are  free 
agents,  carried  steadily  along  to  a  definite  and 
pre-determined  end?  T  confess  that  as  I  advance 
through  life,  I  become  more  and  more  confirmed 
in  that  fatalism  to  which  I  have  always  had  an 
inclination. 

Look  at  it  in  this  way.     We  know  that  many 


o.Q  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

of  the  permanent  facts  of  the  universe  are  not 
chance.  It  is  not  chance  that  the  heavenly 
bodies  swing  clear  of  each  other,  that  the  seed 
is  furnished  with  the  apparatus  which  will  drift 
it  to  a  congenial  soil,  that  the  creature  is  adapt- 
ed to  its  environment.  Show  me  a  whale  with 
its  great-coat  of  fat,  and  I  want  no  further  proof 
of  design.  But  logicall}^  as  it  seems  to  me,  all 
must  be  design,  or  all  must  be  chance.  I  do  not 
see  how  one  can  slash  a  line  right  across  the  uni- 
verse, and  say  that  all  to  the  right  of  that  is 
chance,  and  all  to  the  left  is  pre-ordained.  You 
would  then  have  to  contend  that  things  which  on 
the  face  of  them  are  of  the  same  class,  are  really 
divided  by  an  impassable  gulf,  and  that  the 
lower  are  regulated,  while  the  higher  are  not. 
You  would,  for  example,  be  forced  to  contend 
that  the  number  of  articulations  in  a  flea's  hind 
leg  has  engaged  the  direct  superintendence  of 
the  Creator,  while  the  mischance  which  killed  a 
thousand  people  in  a  theatre  depended  upon  the 
dropping  of  a  wax  vesta  upon  the  floor,  and  was 
an  unforeseen  flaw  in  the  chain  of  life.  This 
seems  to  me  to  be  unthinkable. 

It  is  a  very  superficial    argument   to    say  that 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.    .  341 

if  a  man  holds  the  views  of  a  fatalist  he  will 
therefore  cease  to  strive,  and  will  wait  resign- 
edly for  what  fate  may  send  him.  The  objector 
forgets  that  among  the  other  things  fated  is  that 
we  of  northern  blood  sJioidd  strive  and  should 
not  sit  down  with  folded  hands.  But  when  a 
man  has  striven,  when  he  has  done  all  he  knows, 
and  when,  in  spite  of  it,  a  thing  comes  to  pass, 
let  him  wait  ten  years  before  he  says  that  it  is 
a  misfortune.  It  is  part  of  the  main  line  of  his 
destiny  then,  and  is  working  to  an  end.  A  man 
loses  his  fortune ;  he  gains  earnestness.  His  eve- 
sight  goes  ;  it  leads  him  to  a  spirituality.  The 
girl  loses  her  beauty  ;  she  becomes  more  sympa- 
thetic. We  think  we  are  pushing  our  own  way 
bravely,  but  there  is  a  great  Hand  in  ours  all 
the  time. 

You'll  wonder  what  has  taken  me  off  on  this 
line.  Only  that  I  seem  to  see  it  all  in  acticm  in 
my  own  life.  But,  as  usual,  I  have  started  mer- 
rily off  with  an  appendix,  so  I  shall  go  back 
and  begin  my  report  as  nearly  as  possible  where 
I  ended  the  last.  First  of  all,  I  may  say  gener- 
ally that  the  clouds  were  thinning  then,  and 
that  they  broke  shortly  afterwards.      During  the 


342 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


last  few  months  we  have  never  once  quite  lost 
sight  of  the  sun. 

You  remember  that  we  (Paul  and  I)  had  just 
engaged  a  certain  Miss  Williams  to  come  and 
keep  house  for  us.  I  felt  that  on  the  basement- 
lodger  principle  I  had  not  control  enough  ;  so 
we  now  entered  upon  a  more  business-like  ar- 
rangement, by  which  a  sum  (though,  alas !  an 
absurdly  small  one)  was  to  be  paid  her  for  her 
services.  I  would  it  had  been  ten  tijiies  as 
much,  for  a  better  and  a  more  loyal  servant 
man  never  had.  Our  fortunes  seemed  to  turn 
from  the  hour  that   she  re-entered  the  house. 

Slowly,  week  by  week,  and  month  by  month, 
the  practice  began  to  spread  and  to  strengthen. 
There  were  spells  when  never  a  ring  came  to 
the  bell,  and  it  seemed  as  though  all  our  labour 
had  gone  for  nothing — but  then  would  come 
other  days  when  eight  and  ten  names  would  ap- 
pear in  my  ledger.  Where  did  it  come  from  ? 
you  will  ask.  Some  from  old  Whitehall  and  his 
circle  of  Bohemians.  Some  from  accident  cases. 
Some  from  new  comers  to  the  town  who  drifted 
to  me.  Some  from  people  whom  I  met  first  in 
other    capacities.      An    insurance    superintendent 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


343 


gave  me  a  few  cases  to  examine,  and  that  was  a 
very  great  help.  Above  all,  I  learned  a  fact 
which  I  would  whisper  in  the  ear  of  every  other 
man  who  starts,  as  1  have  done,  a  stranger 
among  strangers.  Do  not  think  that  practice 
will  come  to  you.  You  must  go  to  it.  You 
may  sit  upon  your  consulting  room  chair  until 
it  breaks  under  you,  but  without  purchase  or 
partnership  you  will  make  little  or  no  progress. 
The  way  to  do  it  is  to  go  out,  to  mix  every- 
where with  men,  to  let  them  know  you.  You 
will  come  back  many  a  time  and  be  told  by  a 
reproachful  housekeeper  that  some  one  has  been 
for  you  in  your  absence.  Never  mind  !  Go  out 
again.  A  noisy  smoking  concert  where  you  will 
meet  eighty  men  is  better  for  you  than  the  pa- 
tient or  two  whom  you  might  have  seen  at 
home.  It  took  me  some  time  to  realise,  but  I 
speak  now  as  one  who  knows. 

But — there  is  a  great  big  "  but  "  in  the  case. 
You  must  ride  yourself  on  the  curb  the  whole 
time.  Unless  you  are  sure — absolutely  sure — 
that  you  can  do  this,  you  are  far  best  at  home. 
You  must  never  for  one  instant  forget  yourself. 
You  must    remember  what   your  object   is  in  be- 


344  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

ing  there.  You  must  inspire  respect.  Be  friend- 
ly, genial,  convivial — what  you  will — but  pre- 
serve the  tone  and  bearing  of  a  gentleman.  If 
you  can  make  yourself  respected  and  liked  you 
will  find  every  club  and  society  that  you  join  a 
fresh  introduction  to  practice.  But  beware  of 
drink  !  Above  everything,  beware  of  drink  ! 
The  company  that  you  are  in  may  condone  it  in 
each  other,  but  never  in  the  man  who  wishes 
them  to  commit  their  lives  to  his  safe  keeping. 
A  slip  is  fatal — a  half  slip  perilous.  Make  your 
rule  of  life  and  go  by  it,  in  spite  of  challenge 
or  coaxers.  It  will  be  remembered  in  your  fa- 
vour next  morning. 

And  of  course  I  do  not  mean  merely  festive 
societies.  Literary,  debating,  political,  social, 
athletic,  every  one  of  them  is  a  tool  to  your 
hands.  But  you  must  show^  them  what  a  good 
man  you  are.  You  must  throw  yourself  into 
each  with  energy  and  conviction.  You  will 
soon  find  yourself  on  the  committee — possibly 
the  secretary,  or  even  in  the  presidential  chair. 
Do  not  grudge  labour  where  the  return  may  be 
remote  and  indirect.  Those  are  the  rungs  up 
which  one  climbs. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


345 


That  was  how,  when  I  had  gained  some  sort 
of  opening,  I  set  to  work  to  enlarge  it.  I  joined 
this.  I  joined  that.  I  pushed  in  every  direction. 
I  took  up  athletics  again  much  to  the  advantage 
of  my  health,  and  found  that  the  practice  bene- 
fited as  well  as  I.  My  cricket  form  for  the 
season  has  been  fair,  with  an  average  of  about 
20  with  the  bat  and  9  with  the  ball. 

It  must  be  allowed,  however,  that  this  system 
of  sallying  out  for  my  patients  and  leaving  my 
consulting  room  empty  might  be  less  successful 
if  it  were  not  for  my  treasure  of  a  housekeeper. 
She  is  a  marvel  of  discretion,  and  the  way  in 
which  she  perjures  her  soul  for  the  sake  of  the 
practice  is  a  constant  weight  upon  my  con- 
science. She  is  a  tall,  thin  woman,  with  a  grave 
face  and  an  impressive  manner.  Her  standard 
fiction,  implied  rather  than  said  (with  an  air  as 
if  it  were  so  universally  known  that  it  would  be 
absurd  to  put  it  into  words)  is,  that  I  am  so 
pressed  by  the  needs  of  my  enormous  practice, 
that  any  one  wishing  to  consult  me  must  make 
their  appointment  very  exactly  and  a  long  time 
in  advance. 

"  Dear    me,    now  !  "    she    says    to    some  appli- 
23 


346  THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 

cant.  *'  He's  been  hurried  off  again.  If  you'd 
been  here  half-an-hour  ago  he  might  have  given 
you  a  minute.  I  never  saw  such  a  thing  "  (con- 
fidentially). *'  Between  you  and  me  I  don't 
think  he  can  last  at  it  long.  He's  bound  to 
break  down.  But  come  in,  and  I'll  do  all  I  can 
for  you." 

Then,  having  carefully  fastened  the  patient  up 
in  the  consulting  room,  she  goes  to  little  Paul. 

**  Run  round  to  the  bowling  green,  Master 
Paul,"  says  she.  "  You'll  find  the  doctor  there,  I 
think.  Just  tell  him  that  a  patient  is  waiting  for 
him." 

She  seems  in  these  interviews  to  inspire  them 
with  a  kind  of  hushed  feeling  of  awe,  as  if  they  had 
found  their  way  into  some  holy  of  holies.  My 
own  actual  appearance  is  quite  an  anti-climax  after 
the  introduction  by  Miss  Williams. 

Another  of  her  devices  is  to  make  appointments 
with  an  extreme  precision  as  to  time,  I  being  at  the 
moment  worked  to  death  (at  a  cricket  match). 

"  Let  us  see !  "  says  she,  looking  at  the  slate. 
"  He  will  be  clear  at  seven  minutes  past  eight  this 
evening.  Yes,  he  could  just  manage  it  then.  He 
has  no  one  at  all  from  seven  past   to  the  quarter 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  347 

past " — and  so  at  the  appointed  hour  I  have  my 
patient  precipitating  himself  into  my  room  with 
the  demeanour  of  the  man  who  charges  in  for  his 
bowl  of  hot  soup  at  a  railway  station.  If  he  knew 
that  he  is  probably  the  only  patient  who  has 
opened  my  door  that  evening  he  would  not  be  in 
such  a  hurry — or  think  so  much  of  my  advice. 

One  curious  patient  has  come  my  w^ay  who  has 
been  of  great  service  to  me.  She  is  a  stately  look- 
ing widow,  Turner  by  name,  the  most  depressingly 
respectable  figure,  as  of  Mrs.  Grundy's  older  and 
less  frivolous  sister.  She  lives  in  a  tiny  house, 
with  one  small  servant  to  scale.  Well,  every  two 
months  or  so  she  quite  suddenly  goes  on  a  mad 
drink,  which  lasts  for  about  a  week.  It  ends  as 
abruptly  as  it  begins,  but  while  it  is  on  the  neigh- 
bours know  it.  She  shrieks,  yells,  sings,  chivies 
the  servant,  and  skims  plates  out  of  the  window  at 
the  passers-by.  Of  course,  it  is  really  not  funny, 
but  pathetic  and  deplorable — all  the  same,  it  is 
hard  to  keep  from  laughing  at  the  absurd  contrast 
between  her  actions  and  her  appearance.  I  was 
called  in  by  accident  in  the  first  instance  ;  but  I 
speedily  acquired  some  control  over  her,  so  that 
now  the  neighbours  send  for  me  the  moment  the 


348  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

crockery  begins  to  come  through  the  window. 
She  has  a  fair  competence,  so  that  her  little  vaga- 
ries are  a  help  to  me  with  my  rent.  She  has,  too, 
a  number  of  curious  jugs,  statues,  and  pictures,  a 
selection  of  which  she  presents  to  me  in  the  course 
of  each  of  her  attacks,  insisting  upon  my  carrying 
them  away  then  and  there  ;  so  that  I  stagger  out 
of  the  house  like  one  of  Napoleon's  generals  com- 
ing out  of  Italy.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  method 
in  the  old  lady,  however,  and  on  her  recovery  she 
invariably  sends  round  a  porter,  with  a  polite  note 
to  say  that  she  would  be  very  glad  to  have  her 
pictures  back  again. 

And  now  I  have  worked  my  way  to  the  point 
where  I  can  show  you  what  I  mean  when  I  talk 
about  fate.  The  medical  practitioner  who  lives 
next  me — Porter  is  his  name — is  a  kindly  sort  of 
man,  and  knowing  that  I  have  had  a  long  uphill 
fight,  he  has  several  times  put  things  in  my  way. 
One  day  about  three  weeks  ago  he  came  into  my 
consulting  room  after  breakfast. 

**  Could  you  come  with  me  to  a  consultation  ?  " 
he  asked. 

''  With  pleasure." 

'*  I  have  my  carriage  outside." 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  3^0 

He  told  me  soQiething  of  the  case  as  we  went. 
It  was  a  young  fellow,  an  only  son,  who  had  been 
suffering  from  nervous  symptoms  for  some  time, 
and  lately  from  considerable  pain  in  his  head. 
"  His  people  are  living  with  a  patient  of  mine, 
General  Wainwright,"  said  Porter.  ''  He  didn't 
like  the  symptoms,  and  thought  he  would  have  a 
second  opinion." 

We  came  to  the  house,  a  great  big  one,  in  its 
own  grounds,  and  had  a  preliminary  talk  with  the 
dark-faced,  white-haired  Indian  soldier  who  owns 
it.  He  was  explaining  the  responsibility  that  he 
felt,  the  patient  being  his  nephew,  when  a  lady 
entered  the  room.  ''  This  is  my  sister,  Mrs.  La 
Force,"  said  he,  "  the  mother  of  the  gentleman 
whom  you  are  going  to  see." 

I  recognised  her  instantly.  I  had  met  her  be- 
fore and  under  curious  circumstances.  (Dr.  Stark 
Munro  here  proceeds  to  narrate  again  how  he  had 
met  the  La  Forces,  having  evidently  forgotten  that 
he  had  already  done  so  in  Letter  VI.)  When  she 
was  introduced  I  could  see  that  she  had  not  asso- 
ciated me  with  the  young  doctor  in  the  train.  I 
don't  wonder,  for  I  have  started  a  beard,  in  the 
hope   of  making   myself    look   a  little  older.     She 


350 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


was  naturally  all  anxiety  about  her  son,  and  we 
went  up  with  her  (Porter  and  I)  to  have  a  look  at 
him.  Poor  fellow  !  he  seemed  peakier  and  more 
sallow  than  when  I  had  seen  him  last.  We  held 
our  consultation,  came  to  an  agreement  about  the 
chronic  nature  of  his  complaint,  and  finally  de- 
parted without  my  reminding  Mrs.  La  Force  of 
our  previous  meeting. 

Well,  there  tha  matter  might  have  ended  ;  but 
about  three  days  afterwards  who  should  be  shown 
into  my  consulting  room  but  Mrs.  La  Force  and 
her  daughter.  I  thought  the  latter  looked  twice 
at  me,  when  her  mother  introduced  her,  as  if  she 
had  some  recollection  of  my  face ;  but  she  evi- 
dently could  not  recall  where  she*  had  seen  it,  and 
I  said  nothing  to  help  her.  They  both  seemed  to 
be  much  distressed  in  mind — indeed,  the  tears 
were  brimming  over  from  the  girl's  eyes,  and  her 
lip  was  quivering. 

*'  We  have  come  to  you,  Doctor  Munro,  in  the 
greatest  distress,"  said  Mrs.  La  Force ;  "  we  should 
be  very  glad  of  your  advice." 

"  You  place  me  in  rather  a  difficult  position, 
Mrs.  La  Force,"  said  L  "  The  fact  is,  that  I  look 
upon   you   as    Dr.    Porter's   patients,    and    it   is   a 


illlilliiB 


lliiiii 
IBIBI 


.«»^ 


Her  daughter  bent  towards  her  and  kissed 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


351 


breach  of  etiquette  upon  my  part  to  hold  any  com- 
munication with  you  except  through  him." 

''  It  was  he  who  sent  us  here,"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  that  alters  the  matter  entirely." 

"  He  said  he  could  do  nothing  to  help  us,  and 
that  perhaps  you  could." 

"  Pray  let  me  know  what  you  wish  done." 

She  set  out  valorously  to  explain ;  but  the  effort 
of  putting  her  troubles  into  words  seemed  to  bring 
them  more  home  to  her,  and  she  suddenly  blurred 
over  and  became  inarticulate.  Her  daughter  bent 
towards  her,  and  kissed  her  with  the  prettiest  little 
spasm  of  love  and  pity. 

''I  will  tell  you  about  it,  doctor,"  said  she. 
**  Poor  mother  is  almost  worn  out.  Fred — my 
brother,  that  is  to  say,  is  worse.  He  has  be- 
come noisy,  and  will  not  be  quiet." 

"  And  my  brother,  the  general,"  continued 
Mrs.  La  Force,  *'  naturally  did  not  expect  this 
when  he  kindly  offered  us  a  home,  and,  being  a 
nervous  man,  it  is  very  trying  to  him.  In  fact, 
it  cannot  go  on.     He  says  so  himself." 

"  But  what  is  mother  to  do  ?  "  cried  the  girl, 
taking  up  the  tale  again.  "  No  hotel  or  lodging- 
house  would  take   us  in  while   poor  Fred    is    like 


352 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


that.  And  we  have  not  the  heart  to  send  him 
to  an  asylum.  Uncle  will  not  have  us  any 
longer,  and  we  have  nowhere  to  go  to."  Her 
grey  eyes  tried  to  look  brave,  but  her  mouth 
would  go  down  at  the  corners. 

I  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
trying  to  think  it  all  out. 

"  What  I  wanted  to  ask  you,"  said  Mrs.  La 
Force,  "  was  whether  perhaps  you  knew  some 
doctor  or  some  private  establishment  which  took 
in  such  cases — so  that  we  could  see  Fred  every 
day  or  so.  The  only  thing  is  that  he  must  be 
taken  at  once,  for  really  my  brother  has  reached 
the  end  of  his  patience." 

I  rang  the  bell  for  my  housekeeper. 

"  Miss  Williams,"  said  I,  "  do  you  think  we 
can  furnish  a  bedroom  by  to-night,  so  as  to  take 
in  a  gentleman  who  is  ill  ?  " 

Never  have  I  so  admired  that  wonderful 
woman's  self-command. 

"  Why,  easily,  sir,  if  the  patients  will  only 
let  me  alone.  But  with  that  bell  going  thirty 
times  an  hour,  it's  hard  to  say  what  you  are 
going  to  do." 

This  with    her    funny    manner    set    the   ladies 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


:53 


laughing,  and  the  whole  business  seemed  lighter 
and  easier.  1  promised  to  have  the  room  ready 
by  eight  o'clock.  Mrs.  La  Force  arranged  to 
bring  her  son  round  at  that  hour,  and  both 
ladies  thanked  me  a  very  great  deal  more  than 
I  deserved  ;  for  after  all  it  was  a  business  mat- 
ter, and  a  resident  patient  was  the  very  thing 
that  I  needed.  I  was  able  to  assure  Mrs.  La 
Force  that  I  had  had  a  similar  case  under  my 
charge  before — meaning,  of  course,  poor  ''  Jim- 
my," the  son  of  Lord  Saltire.  Miss  Williams 
escorted  them  to  the  door,  and  took  occasion  to 
whisper  to  them  that  it  was  wonderful  how  I 
got  through  with  it,  and  that  I  was  "  within 
sight  of  my  carriage." 

It  was  a  short  notice,  but  we  got  everything 
ready  by  the  hour.  Carpet,  bed,  suite,  curtains 
— all  came  together,  and  were  fixed  in  their 
places  by  the  united  efforts  of  Miss  Williams, 
Paul,  and  myself.  Sharp  at  eight  a  cab  arrived, 
and  Fred  was  conducted  by  me  into  his  bed- 
room. The  moment  I  looked  at  him  I  could 
see  that  he  was  much  worse  than  when  I  saw 
him  with  Dr.  Porter.  The  chronic  brain  trouble 
had  taken  a  sudden    acute    turn.      His  eyes  were 


354 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


wild,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his  lips  drawn  slightly 
away  from  his  teeth.  His  temperature  was  102°, 
and  he  muttered  to  himself  continually,  and  paid 
no  attention  to  m}^  questions.  It  was  evident  to 
me  at  a  glance  that  the  responsibility  which  I 
had  taken  upon  myself  was  to  be  no  light  one. 

However,  we  could  but  do  our  best.  I  un- 
dressed him  and  got  him  safely  to  bed,  while 
Miss  Williams  prepared  some  arrowroot  for  his 
supper.  He  would  eat  nothing,  however,  but 
seemed  more  disposed  to  dose,  so  having  seen 
him  settle  down  we  left  him.  His  room  was 
the  one  next  to  mine,  and  as  the  wall  was  thin, 
I  could  hear  the  least  movement.  Two  or  three 
times  he  muttered  and  groaned,  but  finally  he 
became  quiet,  and  I  was  able  to  drop  to  sleep. 

At  three  in  the  morning,  I  w^as  awakened  by 
a  dreadful  crash.  Bounding  out  of  bed  I  rushed 
into  the  other  room.  Poor  Fred  was  standing 
in  his  long  gown,  a  pathetic  little  figure  in  the 
grey  light  of  the  dawning  day.  He  had  pulled 
over  his  washing-stand  (with  what  object  only 
his  bemuddled  mind  could  say),  and  the  whole 
place  was  a  morass  of  water  with  islands  of 
broken  crockery.     I  picked  him  up  and  put  him 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


355 


back  into  his  bed  again — his  body  glowing 
through  his  night-dress,  and  his  eyes  staring 
wildly  about  him.  It  was  evidently  impossible 
to  leave  him,  and  so  I  spent  the  rest  of  the 
night  nodding  and  shivering  in  the  armchair. 
No,  it  was  certainly  not  a  sinecure  that  I  had 
undertaken. 

In  the  morning  I  went  round  to  Mrs.  La 
Force  and  gave  her  a  bulletin.  Her  brother  had 
recovered  his  serenity  now  that  the  patient  had 
left.  He  had  the  Victoria  Cross  it  seems,  and 
was  one  of  the  desperate  little  garrison  who 
held  Lucknow  in  that  hell-whirl  of  a  mutiny. 
And  now  the  sudden  opening  of  a  door  sets  him 
shaking,  and  a  dropped  tongs  gives  him  palpita- 
tions.    Are  we  not  the  strangest  kind  of  beings? 

Fred  was  a  little  better  during  the  day,  and 
even  seemed  in  a  dull  sort  of  way  to  recognise 
his  sister,  who  brought  him  flowers  in  the  after- 
noon. Towards  evening  his  temperature  sank  to 
101-5°,  and  he  fell  into  a  kind  of  stupor.  As  it 
happened.  Dr.  Porter  came  in  about  supper-time, 
and  I  asked  him  if  he  would  step  up  and  have 
a  look  at  my  patient.  He  did  so,  and  we  found 
him  dozing  peacefully.     You  would   hardly  think 


356 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


that  that  small  incident  may  have  been  one  of 
the  most  momentous  in  my  life.  It  was  the 
merest  chance  in  the  world  that  Porter  went  up 
at  all. 

Fred  was  taking  medicine  with  a  little  chloral 
in  it  at  this  time.  I  gave  him  his  usual  dose 
last  thing  at  night  ;  and  then,  as  he  seemed  to 
be  sleeping  peacefully,  I  went  to  my  own  room 
for  the  rest  which  I  badly  needed.  I  did  not 
wake  until  eight  in  the  morning,  when  I  was 
roiised  by  the  jingling  of  a  spoon  in  a  saucer, 
and  the  step  of  Miss  Williams  passing  my  door. 
She  was  takins:  him  the  arrow^root  which  I  had 
ordered  over-night.  I  heard  her  open  the  door, 
and  the  next  moment  my  heart  sprang  into  my 
mouth  as  she  gave  a  hoarse  scream,  and  her 
cup  and  saucer  crashed  upon  the  floor.  An  in- 
stant later  she  had  burst  into  my  room,  with 
her  face  convulsed  w^ith  terror. 

"  My  God  !  "    she  cried,  "  he's  gone  !  " 

I  caught  up  my  dressing-gown  and  rushed 
into  the  next  room. 

Poor  little  Fred  w^as  stretched  sideways  across 
his  bed,  quite  dead.  He  looked  as  if  he  had 
been  rising  and  had   fallen  backwards.      His  face 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  35^^ 

was  SO  peaceful  and  smiling  that  I  could  hardly 
have  recognised  the  worried,  fever-worn  features 
of  yesterday.  There  is  great  promise,  I  think, 
on  the  faces  of  the  dead.  They  say  it  is  but 
the  post-mortem  relaxation  of  the  muscles,  but  it 
is  one  of  the  points  on  which  I  should  like  to 
see  science  wrong. 

Miss  Williams  and  I  stood  for  five  minutes 
without  a  word,  hushed  by  the  presence  of  that 
supreme  fact.  Then  we  laid  him  straight,  and 
drew  the  sheet  over  him.  She  knelt  down  and 
prayed  and  sobbed,  while  I  sat  on  the  bed,  with 
the  cold  hand  in  mine.  Then  my  heart  turned 
to  lead  as  I  remembered  that  it  lay  for  me  to 
break  the  news  to  the  mother. 

However,  she  took  it  most  admirably.  They 
were  all  three  at  breakfast  when  I  came  round, 
the  general,  Mrs.  La  Force,  and  the  daughter. 
Somehow  they  seemed  to  know  all  that  I  had 
to  say  at  the  very  sight  of  me  ;  and  in  their 
womanly  unselfishness  their  sympathy  was  all 
for  me,  for  the  shock  I  had  suffered,  and  the 
disturbance  of  my  household.  I  found  myself 
turned  from  the  consoler  into  the  consoled.  For 
an  hour  or  more  we  talked    it  over,  I  explaining 


358 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


what  I  hope  needed  no  explanation,  that  as  the 
poor  boy  could  not  tell  me  his  symptoms  it  was 
hard  for  me  to  know  how  immediate  was  his 
danger.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  fall  of 
temperature  and  the  quietness  which  both  Por- 
ter and  I  had  looked  upon  as  a  hopeful  sign, 
were  really  the  beginning  to  the  end. 

Mrs.  La  Force  asked  me  to  see  to  every- 
thing, the  formalities,  register,  and  funeral.  It 
was  on  a  Wednesday,  and  we  thought  it  best 
that  the  burial  should  be  on  the  Friday.  Back 
I  hurried,  therefore,  not  knowing  what  to  do 
first,  and  found  old  Whitehall  waiting  for  me  in 
my  consulting  room,  looking  very  jaunty  with  a 
camelia  in  his  button-hole.  Not  an  orsfan  in  its 
right  place,  and  a  camelia  in  his  button-hole  ! 

Between  ourselves,  I  was  sorry  to  see  him, 
for  I  was  in  no  humour  for  his  company ;  but 
he  had  heard  all  about  it  from  Miss  Williams, 
and  had  come  to  stop.  Only  then  did  I  fully 
realise  how  much  of  the  kindly,  delicate-minded 
gentleman  remained  behind  that  veil  of  profan- 
ity and  obscenity  which  he  so  often  held  before 
him. 

"  ril    trot    along    with    you,    Dr.    Munro,    sir. 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  35^ 

A  man's  none  the  worse  for  a  companion  at 
such  times.  I'll  not  open  my  mouth  unless  you 
wish  it,  sir ;  but  I  am  an  idle  man,  and  would 
take  it  as  a  kindness  if  you  would  let  me  come 
round  with  you." 

Round  he  came,  and  very  helpful  he  was. 
He  seemed  to  know  all  about  the  procedure — 
"Buried  two  wives,  Dr.  Munro,  sir!"  I  signed 
the  certificate  myself,  conveyed  it  to  the  regis- 
trar, got  the  order  for  burial,  took  it  round  to 
the  parish  clerk,  arranged  an  hour,  then  off  to 
the  undertaker's,  and  back  to  my  practice.  It 
was  a  kind  of  nightmare  morning  to  look  back 
upon,  relieved  only  by  the  figure  of  my  old 
Bohemian,  Avith  his  pea  jacket,  his  black  thorn, 
his  puffy,  crinkly  face,  and   his  camelia. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  then,  the  fu- 
neral came  off  as  arranged,  General  Wainwright, 
Whitehall,  and  I  being  the  sole  mourners.  The 
captain  had  never  seen  poor  Fred  in  the  flesh  ; 
but  he  "  liked  to  be  in  at  the  finish,  sir,"  and  so 
he  gave  me  his  company.  It  was  at  eight  in 
the  morning,  and  it  was  ten  before  we  found 
ourselves  at  Oakley  Villa.  A  burly  man  with 
bushy  whiskers  was  waiting  for  us  at  the  door. 


360  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

''Are  3'ou  Dr.  Munro,  sir  .^  "    he  asked. 

"  I  am." 

"  I  am  a  detective  from  the  local  office.  I 
was  ordered  to  inquire  into  the  death  of  the 
young  man  in  your  house  latel3^" 

Here  was  a  thunderbolt  !  If  looking  upset 
is  a  sign  of  guilt,  I  must  have  stood  confessed 
as  a  villain.  It  was  so  absolutely  unexpected. 
I  hope,  however,  that  I  had  command  of  myself 
instantly. 

"  Pray  step  in  !  "  said  I.  "  Any  information  I 
can  give  you  is  entirely  at  your  service.  Have 
you  any  objection  to  my  friend  Captain  White- 
hall being  present?" 

"  Not  in  the  least."  So  in  we  both  went, 
taking  this  bird  of  ill-omen. 

He  was,  however,  a  man  of  tact  and  with  a 
pleasant  manner. 

''  Of  course,  Dr.  Munro,"  said  he,  ''  you  are 
much  too  well  known  in  the  town  for  any  one 
to  take  this  matter  scrioush\  But  the  fact  is 
that  we  had  an  anonymous  letter  this  morning 
saying  that  the  young  man  had  died  yesterday 
and  was  to  be  buried  at  an  unusual  hour  to-day, 
and  that  the  circumstances  were  suspicious." 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


361 


**  He  died  the  day  before  yesterday.  He  was 
buried  at  eight  to-day,"  I  explained ;  and  then 
1  told  him  the  whole  story  from  the  beginning. 
He  listened  attentively  and  took  a  note  or  two. 

"  Who  signed  the  certihcate  ?  "    he  asked. 

^'I  did,"  said  I. 

He  raised  his  eyebrows  slightly.  "  There  is 
really  no  one  to  check  your  statement  then  ? " 
said  he. 

"  Oh  yes.  Dr.  Porter  saw  him  the  night  be- 
fore he  died.     He  knew  all  about  the  case." 

The  detective  shut  his  note-book  with  a  snap. 
''  That  is  final,  Dr.  Munro,"  said  he.  **  Of 
course  I  must  see  Dr.  Porter  as  a  matter  of 
form,  but  if  his  opinion  agrees  with  yours  I  can 
only  apologise  to  you  for  this  intrusion." 

'*  And  there  is  one  more  thing,  Mr.  Detec- 
tive, sir,"    said  Whitehall    explosively.     "  Pm    not 

a  rich    man,    sir,    only    the  half-pay    skipper 

of    an    armed    transport ;     but    by   ,  sir,    Pd 

give  you  this  hat  full  of  dollars  to  know  the 
name  of  the  rascal  who  wrote  that  anony- 
mous letter,  sir.     By  sir,  you'd    have  a  real 

case    to    look    after    then."     And     he    waved    his 

black  thorn  ferociously. 
24 


362 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


So  the  wretched  business  ended,  Bertie.  But 
on  what  trifling  chances  do  our  fortunes  de- 
pend !  If  Porter  had  not  seen  him  that  night, 
it  is  more  than  likely  that  there  would  have 
been  an  exhumation.  And  then, — well,  there 
would  be  chloral  in  the  body ;  some  money 
interests  did  depend  upon  the  death  of  the  lad — 
a  sharp  lawyer  might  have  made  much  of  the 
case.  Anyway,  the  first  breath  of  suspicion 
would  have  blown  my  little  rising  practice  to 
wind.  What  awful  things  lurk  at  the  corners 
of  Life's  highway,  read}^  to  pounce  upon  us  as 
we  pass  ! 

And  so  you  really  are  going  a-voyaging ! 
Well,  I  won't  write  again  until  I  hear  that 
you  are  back  from  the  Islands,  and  then  I  hope 
to  have  something  a  little  more  cheery  to  talk 
about. 


XVT. 

I  Oakley  Villas,  Birchespool,  4th  November,  1884. 

I  FACE  my  study  window  as  I  write,  Bertie. 
Slate-coloured  clouds  with  ragged  fringes  are 
drifting  slowly  overhead.  Between  them  one 
has  a  glimpse  of  higher  clouds  of  a  lighter 
gray.  I  can  hear  the  gentle  swish  of  the  rain 
striking  a  clearer  note  on  the  gravel  path  and  a 
duller  amons:  the  leaves.  Sometimes  it  falls 
straight  and  heavy,  till  the  air  is  full  of  the 
delicate  gray  shading,  and  for  half  a  foot  above 
the  ofround  there  is  a  haze  from  the  rebound  of 
a  million  tiny  globules.  Then  without  any 
change  in  the  clouds  it  eases  off  again.  Pools 
line  my  walk,  and  lie  thick  upon  the  roadway, 
their  surface  pocked  by  the  falling  drops.  As 
I  sit  1  can  smell  the  heavy  perfume  of  the  wet 
earth,  and  the  laurel  bushes  gleam  where  the 
light  strikes  sideways  upon  them.  The  gate 
outside     shines    above    as    though    it    were    new 


3^4 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


varnished,  and  along-  the  lower  edge  of  the 
upper  bar  there  hangs  a  fringe  of  great  clear 
drops. 

That  is  the  best  that  November  can  do  for 
us  in  our  dripping  little  island.  You,  I  suppose, 
sitting  among  the  dying  glories  of  an  American 
fall,  think  that  this  must  needs  be  depressing. 
Don't  make  any  mistake  about  that,  my  dear 
boy.  You  may  take  the  States,  from  Detroit  to 
the  Gulf,  and  you  won't  find  a  happier  man 
than  this  one.  What  do  you  suppose  I've  got 
att  his  moment  in  my  consulting  room  ?  A 
bureau  ?  A  bookcase  ?  No,  I  know  you've 
guessed  my  secret  already.  She  is  sitting  in  my 
big  armchair ;  and  she  is  the  best,  the  kindest, 
the  sweetest  little  woman  in  England. 

Yes,  I've  been  married  six  months  now — the 
almanack  says  months,  though  I  should  have 
thous^ht  weeks.  I  should,  of  course,  have  sent 
cake  and  cards,  but  had  an  idea  that  3"ou  were 
not  home  from  the  Islands  yet.  It  is  a  good 
year  since  I  wrote  to  you  ;  but  when  3^ou  give 
an  amorphous  address  of  that  sort,  what  can 
you  expect?  I've  thought  of  you,  and  talked  of 
you  often  enough. 


THE   STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS.  365 

Well,  I  daresay,  with  the  acumen  of  an  old 
married  man,  you  have  guessed  who  the  lady  is 
as  well.  We  surely  know  by  some  nameless 
instinct  more  about  our  futures  than  we  think 
we  know.  1  can  remember,  for  example,  that 
years  ago  the  name  of  Bradfield  used  to  strike 
with  a  causeless  familiarity  upon  my  ear;  and 
since  then,  as  you  know,  the  course  of  my  life 
has  flowed  through  it.  And  so  when  I  first 
saw  Winnie  La  Force  in  the  railway  carriage, 
before  I  had  spoken  to  her  or  knew  her  name, 
I  felt  an  inexplicable  sympathy  for  and  interest 
in  her.  Have  you  had  no  experience  of  the 
sort  in  your  life  ?  Or  was  it  merely  that  she 
was  obviously  gentle  and  retiring,  and  so  made 
a  silent  claim  upon  all  that  was  helpful  and 
manly  in  me?  At  any  rate,  I  was  conscious  of 
it ;  and  again  and  again  every  time  that  I  met 
her.  How  good  is  that  saying  of  some  Russian 
winter  that  he  who  loves  one  woman  knows 
more  of  the  whole  sex  than  he  who  has  had 
passing  relations  with  a  thousand  !  I  thought 
I  knew  something  of  women.  I  suppose  every 
medical  student  does.  But  now  I  can  see  that 
I  really  knew  nothing.      My    knowledge    was    all 


366  THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

external.  I  did  not  know  the  woman  soul,  that 
crowning  gift  of  Providence  to  man,  which,  if 
we  do  not  ourselves  degrade  it,  will  set  an  edge 
to  all  that  is  good  in  us.  I  did  not  know  how 
the  love  of  a  woman  will  tinge  a  man's  whole 
life  and  every  action  with  unselfishness.  I  did 
not  know  how  easy  it  is  to  be  noble  when  some 
one  else  takes  it  for  granted  that  one  will  be 
so ;  or  how  wide  and  interesting  life  becomes 
when  viewed  by  four  eyes  instead  of  two.  I 
had  much  to  learn,  j^ou  see  ;  but  I  think  I  have 
learned  it. 

It  was  natural  that  the  death  of  poor  Fred 
La  Force  should  make  me  intimate  with  the 
family.  It  was  really  that  cold  hand  which  I 
grasped  that  morning  as  I  sat  by  his  bed  which 
drew  me  towards  m.y  happiness.  I  visited  them 
frequently,  and  we  often  went  little  excursions 
together.  Then  my  dear  mother  came  down  to 
stay  with  me  for  a  spell,  and  turned  Miss  Will- 
iams gray  by  looking  for  dust  in  all  sorts  of 
improbable  corners  ;  or  advancing  with  a  ter- 
rible silence,  a  broom  in  one  hand  and  a  shovel 
in  the  other,  to  the  attack  of  a  spider's  web 
which   she   had  marked   down   in   the   beer  cellar. 


THE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS. 


367 


Her  presence  enabled  me  to  return  some  of 
the  hospitality  which  I  had  received  from  the 
La  Forces,  and  brought  us  still  nearer  together. 

I  had  never  yet  reminded  them  of  our  pre- 
vious meeting.  One  evening,  however,  the  talk 
turned  upon  clairvoyance,  and  Mrs.  La  Force 
was  expressing  the  utmost  disbelief  in  it.  I 
borrowed  her  ring,  and  holding  it  to  my  fore- 
head, I  pretended  to  be  peering  into  her  past. 

"  I  see  you  in  a  railway  carriage,"  said  L 
**  You  are  wearing  a  red  feather  in  your  bonnet. 
Miss  La  Force  is  dressed  in  something  dark. 
There  is  a  young  man  there.  He  is  rude 
enough  to  address  your  daughter  as  Winnie  be- 
fore he  has  ever  been  " 

"Oh,  mother,"  she  cried,  "of  course  it  is  he! 
The  face  haunted  me,  and  I  could  not  think 
where  we  had  met  it." 

Well,  there  are  some  things  that  we  don't 
talk  about  to  another  man,  even  when  we  know 
each  other  as  well  as  I  know  you.  Why  should 
we,  when  that  which  is  most  engrossing  to  us 
consists  in  those  gradual  shades  of  advance 
from  friendship  to  intimacy,  and  from  intimacy 
to     something     more     sacred     still,     which      can 


368 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


scarcely  be  written  at  all,  far  less  made  interest- 
ing to  another?  The  time  came  at  last  when 
they  were  to  leave  Birchespool,  and  my  mother 
and  I  went  round  the  night  before  to  say  good- 
bye. Winnie  and  I  were  thrown  together  for 
an  instant. 

"When  will  you  come  back  to  Birchespool?" 
I  asked. 

"  Mother  does  not  know." 

"  Will  you  come  soon,  and  be  my  wife  ? " 

I  had  been  turning  over  in  my  head  all  the 
evening  how  prettily  I  could  lead  up  to  it,  and 
how  neatly  I  could  say  it — and  behold  the  mel- 
ancholy result !  Well,  perhaps  the  feeling  of  my 
heart  managed  to  make  itself  clear  even  through 
those  bald  words.  There  was  but  one  to  judge, 
and  she  was  of  that  opinion. 

I  was  so  lost  in  my  own  thoughts  that  I 
walked  as  far  as  Oakley  Villa  with  my  mother 
before  I  opened  my  mouth.  *'  Mam,"  said  I  at 
last,  "  I  have  proposed  to  Winnie  La  Force, 
and  she  has  accepted  me." 

''  My  boy,"  said  she,  "  you  are  a  true  Packen- 
ham."  And  so  I  knew  that  my  mother's  ap- 
proval had  reached  the    point   of   enthusiasm.     It 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


3^>9 


was  not  for  days — not  until  I  expressed  a  pref- 
erence for  dust  under  the  bookcase  with  quiet, 
against  purity  and  ructions — that  the  dear  old 
lady  perceived  traces  of  the  Munros. 

The  time  originally  fixed  for  the  wedding 
was  six  months  after  this;  but  we  gradually 
whittled  it  down  to  five  and  to  four.  My  in- 
come had  risen  to  about  two  hundred  and 
seventy  pounds  at  the  time  ;  and  Winnie  had 
agreed,  with  a  somewhat  enigmatical  smile,  that 
we  could  manage  very  well  on  that — the  more 
so  as  marriage  sends  a  doctor's  income  up.  The 
reason  of  her  smile  became  more  apparent 
when  a  few  weeks  before  that  date  I  received 
a  most  portentous  blue  document  in  which 
"  We,  Brown  &  Woodhouse,  the  solicitors  for 
the  herein  and  hereafter  mentioned  Winifred  La 
Force,  do  hereby" — state  a  surprising  number 
of  things,  and  use  some  remarkably  bad 
English.  The  meaning  of  it,  when  all  the 
"  whereas's  and  aforesaids"  were  picked  out, 
was,  that  Winnie  had  about  a  hundred  a  year 
of  her  own.  It  could  not  make  me  love  her  a 
shade  better  than  I  did  ;  but  at  the  same  time 
I  won't  be  so    absurd   as   to   say  that    I  was    not 


oyo  THE   STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS. 

glad,  or  to  deny  that  it  made  our  marriage 
much  easier  than    it  would  otherwise  have    been. 

Poor  Whitehall  came  in  on  the  morning  of 
the  ceremony.  He  was  staggering  under  the 
weight  of  a  fine  Japanese  cabinet  which  he  had 
carried  round  from  his  lodgings.  I  had  asked 
him  to  come  to  the  church,  and  the  old  gentle- 
man was  resplendent  in  a  white  waistcoat  and  a 
silk  tie.  Between  ourselves,  I  had  been  just  a 
little  uneasy  lest  his  excitement  should  upset 
him,  as  in  the  case  of  the  dinner ;  but  nothing 
could  be  more  exemplary  than  his  conduct  and 
appearance.  I  had  introduced  him  to  Winnie 
some  days  before. 

*' You'll    forgive    me     for    saying,  Dr.    Munro, 

sir,  that  you  are    a  lucky  fellow,"    said    he. 

"  You've  put  your  hand  in  the  bag,  sir,  and 
taken  out  the  eel  first  time,  as  any  one  with 
half  an  eye  can  see.  Now,  I've  had  three  dips, 
and  landed  a  snake  every  dip.  If  I'd  had  a 
good  woman  at  my  side.  Dr.  Munro,  sir,  I 
might  not  be  the  broken  half-pay  skipper  of  an 
armed  transport  to-day." 

"  I  thought  you  had  been  twice  married, 
captain." 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  371 

''  Three  times,  sir.  I  buried  two.  The  other 
lives  at  Brussels.  Well,  I'll  be  at  the  church, 
Dr.  Munro,  sir ;  and  you  may  lay  that  there  is 
no  one   there  who   wishes  you  better  than   I  do." 

And  yet  there  were  many  there  who  wished 
me  well.  My  patients  had  all  got  wind  of  it ; 
and  they  assembled  by  the  pew-full,  looking  dis- 
tressingly healthy.  My  neighbour.  Dr.  Porter, 
was  there  also  to  lend  me  his  support,  and  old 
General  Wainwright  gave  Winnie  away.  My 
mother,  Mrs.  La  Force,  and  Miss  Williams  were 
all  in  the  front  pew  ;  and  away  at  the  back  of 
the  church  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  forked 
beard  and  crinkly  face  of  Whitehall,  and  beside 
him  the  wounded  lieutenant,  the  man  who  ran 
away  with  the  cook,  and  quite  a  line  of  the 
strange  Bohemians  who  followed  his  fortunes. 
Then  when  the  words  were  said,  and  man's 
form  had  tried  to  sanctify  that  which  was 
already  divine,  we  walked  amid  the  pealings  of 
the  '*  Wedding  March  "  into  the  vestry,  where 
my  dear  mother  relieved  the  tension  of  the  situa- 
tion by  signing  the  register  in  the  wrong  place, 
so  that  to  all  appearance  it  was  she  who  had 
just    married    the    clergyman.      And    then    amid 


372 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS, 


congratulations  and  kindly  faces,  we  were  to- 
gether, her  hand  on  my  forearm,  upon  the  steps 
of  the  church,  and  saw  the  familiar  road  stretch- 
ing before  us.  But  it  was  not  that  road  which 
lay  before  my  eyes,  but  rather  the  path  of  our 
lives  ; — that  broader  path  on  which  our  feet  were 
now  planted,  so  pleasant  to  tread,  and  yet  with 
its  course  so  shrouded  in  the  mist.  Was  it  long, 
or  was  it  short?  Was  it  uphill,  or  was  it  down? 
For  her,  at  least,  it  should  be  smooth,  if  a  man's 
love  could  make  it  so. 

We  were  away  for  several  weeks  in  the  Isle 
of  Man,  and  then  came  back  to  Oakley  Villa, 
where  Miss  Williams  was  awaiting  us  in  a  house 
in  which  even  my  mother  could  have  found  no 
dust,  and  with  a  series  of  cheering  legends  as 
to  the  crowds  of  patients  who  had  blocked 
the  street  in  my  absence.  There  really  was  a 
marked  increase  in  my  practice  ;  and  for  the 
last  six  months  or  so,  without  being  actually 
busy,  I  have  always  had  enough  to  occupy  me. 
My  people  are  poor,  and  I  have  to  work  hard 
for  a  small  fee ;  but  I  still  study  and  attend 
the  local  hospital,  and  keep  my  knowledge  up- 
to-date,  so  as  to  be    ready  for   my  opening  when 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


373 


it  comes.  There  are  times  when  I  chafe  that  I 
may  not  play  a  part  upon  some  larger  stage 
than  this  ;  but  my  happiness  is  complete,  and  if 
fate  has  no  further  use  for  me,  I  am  content  now 
from  my  heart  to  live  and  to  die  where  I  am. 
You  will  wonder,  perhaps,  how  we  get  on — 
my  wife  and  I — in  the  matter  of  religion.  Well, 
we  both  go  our  own  ways.  Why  should  I  prose- 
lytise ?  I  would  not  for  the  sake  of  abstract 
truth  take  away  her  child-like  faith  which  serves 
to  make  life  easier  and  brighter  to  her.  I  have 
made  myself  ill-understood  by  you  in  these  dis- 
cursive letters  if  you  have  read  in  them  any  bit- 
terness against  the  orthodox  creeds.  Far  from 
saying  that  they  are  all  false,  it  would  express 
my  position  better  to  say  that  they  are  all  true. 
Providence  would  not  have  used  them  were  they 
not  the  best  available  tools,  and  in  that  sense  di- 
vine. That  they  are  final  I  deny.  A  simpler  and 
more  universal  creed  will  take  their  place,  when 
the  mind  of  man  is  ready  for  it ;  and  I  believe 
it  will  be  a  creed  founded  upon  those  lines  of 
absolute  and  provable  truth  which  I  have  indi- 
cated. But  the  old  creeds  are  still  the  best 
suited  to  certain  minds,  and   to   certain   ages.      If 


374  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

they  are  good  enough  for  Providence  to  use, 
they  are  good  enough  for  us  to  endure.  We 
have  but  to  wait  upon  the  survival  of  the  truest. 
If  I  have  seemed  to  say  anything  aggressive 
against  them,  it  was  directed  at  those  who  wish 
to  limit  the  Almighty's  favour  -to  their  own  little 
clique,  or  who  wish  to  build  a  Chinese  wall 
round  religion,  with  no  assimilation  of  fresh 
truths,  and  no  hope  of  expansion  in  the  fu- 
ture. It  is  with  these  that  the  pioneers  of 
progress  can  hold  no  truce.  As  for  my  wife, 
I  would  as  soon  think  of  breaking  in  upon  her 
innocent  prayers,  as  she  would  of  carrying  off 
the  works  of  philosophy  from  my  study  table. 
She  is  not  narrow  in  her  views  ;  but  if  one 
could  stand  upon  the  very  topmost  pinnacle  of 
broad-mindedness,  one  would  doubtless  see  from 
it  that  even  the  narrow  have  their  mission. 

About  a  year  ago  I  had  news  of  CuUingworth 
from  Smeaton,  who  was  in  the  same  football 
team  at  college,  and  who  had  called  when  he  was 
passing  through  Bradfield.  His  report  was  not  a 
very  favourable  one.  The  practice  had  declined 
considerably.  People  had  no  doubt  accustomed 
themselves    to    his   eccentricities,    and   these    had 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


375 


ceased  to  impress  them.  Again,  there  had  been 
one  or  two  coroner's  inquests,  which  had  spread 
the  impression  that  he  had  been  rash  in  the  use 
of  powerful  drugs.  If  the  coroner  could  have 
seen  the  hundreds  of  cures  which  Cullingworth 
had  effected  by  that  same  rashness  he  would  have 
been  less  confident  with  his  censui'es.  But,  as 
you  can  understand,  C.'s  rival  medical  men  were 
not  disposed  to  cover  him  in  any  way.  He  had 
never  had  much  consideration  for  them. 

Besides  this  decline  in  his  practice,  I  w^as  sorry 
to  hear  that  Cullingworth  had  shown  renewed 
signs  of  that  curious  vein  of  suspicion  which  had 
alwaj's  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  most  insane  of  all 
his  traits.  His  whole  frame  of  mind  towards  me 
had  been  an  example  of  it,  but  as  far  back  as  I  can 
remember  it  had  been  a  characteristic.  Even  in 
those  early  days  w^hen  they  lived  in  four  little 
rooms  above  a  grocer's  shop,  I  recollect  that  he 
insisted  upon  gumming  up  every  chink  of  one 
bedroom  for  fear  of  some  imaginary  infection. 
He  was  haunted,  too,  with  a  perpetual  dread  of 
eavesdroppers,  which  used  to  make  him  fly  at  the 
door  and  fling  it  open  in  the  middle  of  his  con- 
versation, pouncing  out  into  the  passage  with  the 


376  THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 

idea  of  catching  somebody  in  the  act.  Once  it 
was  the  maid  with  the  tea  tray  that  he  caught,  I 
remember  ;  and  I  can  see  her  astonished  face  now, 
with  an  aureole  of  flying  cups  and  lumps  of  sugar. 

Smeaton  tells  me  that  this  has  now  taken  the 
form  of  imagining  that  some  one  is  conspiring  to 
poison  him  with  copper,  against  which  he  takes 
the  most  extravagant  precautions.  It  is  the 
strangest  sight,  he  says,  to  see  Cullingworth  at 
his  meals ;  for  he  sits  with  an  elaborate  chemical 
apparatus  and  numerous  retorts  and  bottles  at 
his  elbow,  with  which  he  tests  samples  of  every 
course.  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  Smeaton's 
description,  and  yet  it  was  a  laugh  with  a  groan 
underlying  it.  Of  all  ruins,  that  of  a  fine  man  is 
the   saddest. 

I  never  thought  I  should  have  seen  Culling- 
worth again,  but  fate  has  brought  us  together.  I 
have  always  had  a  kindly  feeling  for  him,  though 
I  feel  that  he  used  me  atrociously.  Often  I  have 
wondered  w^hether,  if  I  were  placed  before  him, 
I  should  take  him  by  the  throat  or  by  the  hand. 
You  will  be  interested  to  hear  what  actually  oc- 
curred. 

One  day,  just  a  week  or  so  back,  I  was  start- 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


377 


ing  on  my  round,  when  a  boy  arrived  with  a  note. 
It  fairly  took  my  breath  away  when  I  saw  the 
familiar  writing,  and  realised  that  Cullingworth 
was  in  Birchespool.  I  called  Winnie,  and  we  read 
it  together. 

"  Dear  Munro,"  it  said,  "  James  is  in  lodgings 
here  for  a  few  days.  We  are  on  the  point  of 
leaving  England.  He  would  be  glad,  for  the 
sake  of  old  times,  to  have  a  chat  with  you 
before    he   goes. 

"  Yours  faithfully, 

''  Hetty  Cullingworth." 

The  writing  was  his  and  the  style  of  address, 
so  that  it  was  evidently  one  of  those  queer  little 
bits  of  transparent  cunning  which  were  charac- 
teristic of  him,  to  make  it  come  from  his  wife, 
that  he  might  not  lay  himself  open  to  a  direct 
rebuff.  The  address,  curiously  enough,  was  that 
very  Cadogan  Terrace  at  which  I  had  lodged, 
but  two  doors  higher  up. 

Well,  I  was  averse  from  going  myself,  but 
Winnie  was  all  for  peace  and  forgiveness.  Wom- 
en who  claim  nothing  invariably  get  everything, 
and  so  my  gentle    little  wife   always    carries    her 

point.     Half    an    hour    later    I    was    in    Cadogan 
25 


378 


THE   STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


Terrace  with  very  mixed  feelings,  but  the  kind- 
lier ones  at  the  top.  I  tried  to  think  that 
Cullingworth's  treatment  of  me  had  been  patho- 
losfical — the  result  of  a  diseased  brain.  If  a 
delirious  man  had  struck  me,  I  should  not  have 
been  angry  with  him.  That  must  be  my  way  of 
looking  at  it. 

If  CuUingworth  still  bore  any  resentment,  he 
concealed  it  most  admirably.  But  then  I  knew 
by  experience  that  that  genial  loud-voiced  John- 
Bull  manner  of  his  could  conceal  many  things. 
His  wife  was  more  open  ;  and  I  could  read  in 
her  tightened  lips  and  cold  grey  eyes,  that  she 
at  least  stood  fast  to  the  old  quarrel.  CuUing- 
worth was  little  changed,  and  seemed  to  be  as 
sanguine  and  as  full  of   spirits  as  ever. 

"  Sound  as  a  trout,  my  boy  !  "  he  cried, 
drumming  on  his  chest  with  his  hands.  *'  Played 
for  the  London  Scottish  in  their  opening  match 
last  week,  and  w^as  on  the  ball  from  whistle  to 
whistle.  Not  so  quick  on  a  sprint— you  find 
that  yourself,  Munro,  eh  what  ? — but  a  good 
hard-working  bullocky  forward.  Last  match  I 
shall  have  for  many  a  day,  for  I  am  off  to 
South  America  next  week." 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  3-Q 

"  You  have  given  up  Bradfield  altogether 
then  ?  " 

"  Too  provincial,  my  boy  !  What's  the  good 
of  a  village  practice  with  a  miserable  three 
thousand  or  so  a  year  for  a  man  that  wants  room 
to  spread  ?  My  head  was  sticking  out  at  one  end 
of  Bradfield  and  my  feet  at  the  other.  Why, 
there  wasn't  room  for  Hetty  in  the  place,  let 
alone  me  !  I've  taken  to  the  eye,  my  boy. 
There's  a  fortune  in  the  eye.  A  man  grudges  a 
half-crown  to  cure  his  chest  or  his  throat,  but 
he'd  spend  his  last  dollar  over  his  eye.  There's 
money  in  ears,  but  the  eye  is  a  gold  mine." 

"  What  I  "    said   I,  ''  in  South  America  ?  " 

"  Just  exactly  in  South  America,"  he  cried, 
pacing  with  his  quick  little  steps  up  and  down 
the  dingy  room.  '*  Look  here,  laddie  !  There's 
a  great  continent  from  the  equator  to  the  ice- 
bergs, and  not  a  man  in  it  who  could  correct 
an  astigmatism.  What  do  they  know  of  modern 
eye-surgery  and  refraction  ?  Why,  dam  my,  they 
don't  know  much  about  it  in  the  provinces  of 
England  yet,  let  alone  Brazil.  Man,  if  you 
could  only  see  it,  there's  a  fringe  of  s(]uinting 
millionaires    sitting    ten    deep    round    the    whole 


380 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS. 


continent  with  their  money  in  their  hands  wait- 
ing for  an  oculist.  Eh,  INIunro,  what  ?  By 
Crums,  I'll  come  back  and  I'll  buy  Bradheld, 
and  I'll  give  it  away  as  a  tip  to  a  waiter." 

"  You  propose  to  settle  in  some  large  city, 
then?" 

"  City !  What  use  would  a  city  be  to  me  ? 
I'm  there  to  squeeze  the  continent.  I  work  a 
town  at  a  time.  I  send  on  an  agent  to  the  next 
to  say  that  I  am  coming.  *  Here's  the  chance 
of  a  lifetime,'  says  he,  '  no  need  to  go  back  to 
Europe.  Here's  Europe  come  to  you.  Squints, 
cataracts,  iritis,  refractions,  what  you  like ;  here's 
the  great  Signor  Cullingworth,  right  up  to  date 
and  ready  for  anything  ! '  In  they  come  of  course, 
droves  of  them,  and  then  I  arrive  and  take  the 
money.  Here's  my  luggage ! "  he  pointed  to 
two  great  hampers  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 
"  Those  are  glasses,  my  bo}^  concave  and  con- 
vex, hundreds  of  them.  I  test  an  eye,  fit  him 
on  the  spot,  and  send  him  away  shouting.  Then 
I  load  up  a  steamer  and  come  home,  unless  I 
elect  to  buy  one  of  their  little  States  and  run 
it." 

Of    course    it    sounded    absurd    as    he    put   it ; 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


381 


but  I  could  soon  see  that  he  had  worked  out  his 
details,  and  that  there  was  a  very  practical  side 
to  his  visions. 

*'  I  work  Bahia,"  said  he.  "  My  agent  pre- 
pares Pernambuco.  When  Bahia  is  squeezed 
dry  I  move  on  to  Pernambuco,  and  the  agent 
ships  to  Monte  Video.  So  we  work  our  way 
round  with  a  trail  of  spectacles  behind  us.  It'll 
go  like  clock-work." 

''  You  will  need  to  speak  Spanish,"  said  I. 

"  Tut,  it  does  not  take  any  Spanish  to  stick 
a  knife  into  a  man's  eye.  All  I  shall  want  to 
know  is,  '  Money  down — no  credit.'  That's  Span- 
ish enough  for  me." 

We  had  a  long  and  interesting  talk  about  all 
that  had  happened  to  both  of  us,  without,  how- 
ever, any  allusion  to  our  past  quarrel.  He  would 
not  admit  that  he  had  left  Bradfield  on  account 
of  a  falling-off  in  his  practice,  or  for  any  reason 
except  that  he  found  the  place  too  small.  His 
spring-screen  invention  had,  he  said,  been  favour- 
ably reported  upon  by  one  of  the  first  private 
shipbuilding  firms  on  the  Clyde,  and  there  was 
every  probability  of  their  adopting  it. 

*'  As  to  the  magnet,"  said  he,  **  Fm  very  sorry 


382 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


for  my  country,  but  there  is  no  more  command 
of  the  seas  for  her.  I'll  have  to  let  the  thing- 
go  to  the  Germans.  It's  not  my  fault.  They 
must  not  blame  me  when  the  smash  comes.  1 
put  the  thing  before  the  Admiralty,  and  I  could 
have  made  a  board  school  understand  it  in  half 
the  time.  Such  letters,  Munro  !  Colney  Hatch 
on  blue  paper.  When  the  war  comes,  and  I 
show  those  letters,  somebody  will  be  hanged. 
Questions  about  this — questions  about  that.  At 
last  they  asked  me  what  1  proposed  to  fasten 
my  magnet  to.  I  answered  to  any  solid  impene- 
trable object,  such  as  the  head  of  an  Admiralty 
official.  Well,  that  broke  the  whole  thing  up. 
They  wrote  with  their  compliments,  and  they 
were  returning  my  apparatus.  I  wrote  with  my 
compliments,  and  they  might  go  to  the  devil. 
And  so  ends  a  great  historical  incident,  Munro — 
eh,   what?" 

We  parted  very  good  friends,  but  with  reser- 
vations, I  fancy,  on  both  sides.  His  last  advice 
to  me  was  to  clear  out  of  Birchespool. 

''  You  can  do  better — you  can  do  better,  lad- 
die ! "  said  he.  "  Look  round  the  whole  world, 
and  when   you    see    a   little    round   hole,  jump    in 


THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.  383 

feet   foremost.      There's   a   lot   of  'em  about   if   a 
man  keeps  himself  read}^" 

So  those  were  the  last  words  of  Cullingworth, 
and  the  last  that  I  may  ever  see  of  him  also,  for 
he  starts  almost  immediately  upon  his  strange 
venture.  He  must  succeed.  He  is  a  man  whom 
nothing  could  hold  down.  I  wish  him  luck,  and 
have  a  kindly  feeling  towards  him,  and  yet  I 
distrust  him  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  and 
shall  be  just  as  pleased  to  know  that  the 
Atlantic  rolls  between  us. 

Well,  my  dear  Bertie,  a  happy  and  tranquil, 
if  not  very  ambitious  existence  stretches  before 
us.  We  are  both  in  our  twenty-fifth  year,  and 
I  suppose  that  without  presumption  we  can 
reckon  that  thirty-five  more  years  lie  in  front  of 
us.  I  can  foresee  the  gradually  increasing  rou- 
tine of  work,  the  wider  circle  of  friends,  the 
indentification  with  this  or  that  local  movement, 
with  perhaps  a  seat  on  the  Bench,  or  at  least  in 
the  Municipal  Council  in  my  later  years.  It's 
not  a  very  startling  programme,  is  it?  But  it 
lies  to  my  hand,  and  I  see  no  other.  I  should 
dearly  love  that  the  world  should  be  ever  so 
little  better  for  my  presence.     Even  on  this  small 


384 


THE   STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS. 


stage  we  have  our  two  sides,  and  something 
might  be  done  by  throwing  all  one's  weight  on 
the  scale  of  breadth,  tolerance,  charity,  temper- 
ance, peace,  and  kindliness  to  man  and  beast. 
We  can't  all  strike  very  big  blows,  and  even  the 
little    ones  count    for    something. 

So  good-bye,  my  dear  boy,  and  remember 
that  when  you  come  to  England  our  home 
would  be  the  brighter  for  your  presence.  In 
any  case,  now  that  I  have  your  address,  I  shall 
write  again  in  a  very  few  weeks.  My  kindest 
regards  to  Mrs.  Swanborough. 

Yours  ever, 

J.  Stark  Munro. 

[This  is  the  last  letter  which  I  was  destined 
to  receive  from  my  poor  friend.  He  started  to 
spend  the  Christmas  of  that  year  (1884)  with  his 
people,  and  on  the  journey  was  involved  in  the 
fatal  railroad  accident  at  Sittingfieet,  where  the 
express  ran  into  a  freight  train  which  was  stand- 
ing in  the  depot.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Munro  were 
the  only  occupants  of  the  car  next  the  locomo- 
tive, and  were  killed  instantly,  as  were  the 
brakesman     and    one    other    passenger.      It    was 


THE    STARK    MUNRO   LETTERS.  385 

such  an  end  as  both  he  and  his  wife  would  have 
chosen ;  and  no  one  who  knew  them  would  re- 
gret that  neither  was  left  to  mourn  the  other. 
His  insurance  policy  of  eleven  hundred  pounds 
was  sufficient  to  provide  for  the  wants  of  his  own 
family,  which,  as  his  father  was  sick,  was  the 
one  worldly  matter  which  could  have  caused 
him  concern. — H.  S. 


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"  As  a  writer  of  short  stories  Rudyard  Kipling  is  a  genius.  He  has  had  imitators, 
but  they  have  not  been  successful  in  dimming  the  luster  of  his  achievements  by  con- 
trast. .  .  .  'Many  Inventions'  is  the  title.  And  they  are  inventions-  entirely  origi- 
nal in  incident,  ingenious  in  plot,  and  startling  by  their  boldness  and  force." — Rochester 
Herald. 

"How  clever  he  is!  This  must  always  be  the  first  thought  on  reading  such  a 
collection  of  Kipling's  stories.  Here  is  art — art  of  the  most  consummate  sort  Com- 
pared with  this,  the  stories  of  our  brightest  young  writers  become  commonplace."  — 
Neiv  York  Eva7tgelist. 

"  Taking  the  group  as  a  whole,  it  may  be  said  that  the  execution  is  up  to  his  best 
in  the  past,  while  two  or  three  sketches  surpass  in  rounaed  strength  and  vividness  ol 
imagination  anything  else  he  has  done." — Hartford  Courant. 

"fifteen  more  extraordinary  .sketches,  without  a  ting*^  of sen.sationalism,  it  would 
he  hard  to  find.  .  .  .  Every  one  has  an  individuality  of  its  own  w  bich  fascinates  tl)<5 
leader." — Boston  Times. 


D.  APPLETON    &    CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York. 


B 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

S.  R.  CROCKETT'S   LATEST    BOOKS. 

UNIFORM    EDITION.      EACH,    I2MO.      CLOTH,    $1.50. 

OG-MYRTLE  AND  PEAT. 


"  Here  are  idyls,  epics,  dramas  of  human  life,  written  in  words  that  thrill  and 
burn.  .  .  .  Each  is  a  poem  that  has  an  immortal  flavor.  They  are  fragments  of  the 
author's  early  dreams,  too  bright,  loo  gorgeous,  too  full  of  the  blood  of  rubies  and  the 
life  of  diamonds  to  be  caught  and  held  palpitating  in  expression's  grasp." — Boston. 
Cozirier. 

"  Contains  some  of  the  most  dramatic  pieces  Mr.  Crockett  has  yet  written,  and  in 
these  picturesque  sketches  he  is  altogether  delightful.  .  .  .  The  volume  is  well  worth 
reading — all  of  it."  -Fhila  ielphia  Press. 

"  Hardly  a  sketch  among  them  all  that  will  not  afford  pleasure  to  the  reader  for  its 
genial  humor,  artistic  local  coloring,  and  admirable  portrayal  of  character." — Boston 
Ho>ne  Journal. 

"One  dips  into  the  book  anywhere  and  reads  on  and  on,  fascinated  by  the  writer's 
charm  of  manner." — Minneapolis  Tribiaie. 

"  These  stories  are  lively  and  vigorous,  and  have  many  touches  of  human  nature 
in  them  such  touches  as  we  are  used  to  from  having  reiid  '  The  Stickit  Minister '  and 
'  The  Lilac  Sunbonnet.'  " — New  Haven  Register. 

"  '  Bog-Myrtle  and  Peat '  contains  stories  which  could  only  have  been  written  by  a 
man  of  genius." — London  Chronicle. 


Y^HE  LILAC   SUNBONNET.     A  Love  Story. 

"•  A  love  story  pure  and  simole,  one  of  the  old-fashioned,  wholesome,  sunshiny 
kind,  with  a  pure-minded,  sound-hearted  hero,  and  a  heroine  who  is  merely  a  good  and 
beau.iful  woman;  and  if  any  other  love  story  half  so  sweet  has  been  wiitten  this  year, 
it  has  escaped  our  notice." — Mew  York  Times. 

"  A  solid  novel  with  an  old  time  flavor,  as  refreshing  when  compared  to  the  average 
modern  story  as  is  a  whiff  of  air  from  the  hills  to  one  just  come  from  a  hothouse." — 
Boston  Beacon. 

"The  general  conception  of  the  story,  the  motive  of  which  is  the  growth  of  love  be- 
tween the  young  chief  and  he  oine,  is  delineated  with  a  sweetness  and  a  freshness,  a 
naturalness  and  a  certainty,  which  places  'The  Lilac  Sunbonnet'  among  the  best 
stories  of  the  time  "—New  York  Mail  and  Exrress. 

"  In  its  own  line  this  little  love  story  can  hardly  be  excelled.  It  is  a  pastoral,  an 
idyl— the  story  of  love  and  courtship  and  maniase  of  a  fine  young  man  and  a  lovely 
girl— no  more.  But  it  is  told  in  so  thoroughly  delightful  a  manner,  with  such  playful 
humor,  such  delicate  fmcy,  such  true  and  sympathetic  feeling,  that  nothing  more 
could  be  i.\es.\red."— Boston  Traveller. 

"  A  charming  love  story,  redolent  of  the  banks  and  braes  and  lochs  and  pines, 
healthy  to  the  core,  the  love  that  God  made  for  man  and  woman's  first  glimpse  of  para- 
dise, and  a  constant  reminder  of  it."— San  Francisco  Call. 


New  York :   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.   APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


A 


JOURNEY  IN  OTHER    WORLDS.      A   i^ 

mance  of  the  Future.     By  John  Jacob  Astor.     With  9  f 
page  Illustrations  by  Dan  Beard.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"An  interesting  and  cleverly  devised   book.  .  .  .   No  lack   of  imagination. 
Shows  a  skillful  and  wide  acquaintance  with  scientific  facts." — New  York  Herald. 

"The  author  speculates  cleverly  and  daringly  on  the  scientific  advance  of  the  ejii, 
and  he  revels  in  the  physical  luxuriance  of  Jupiter;  but  he  also  lets  his  imaginaiD 
travel  through  spiritual  realms,  and  evidently  delights  in  mystic  speculation  quitis 
much  as  in  scientific  investigation.  If  he  is  a  follower  of  Jules  Verne,  he  has  not  forit' 
ten  also  to  study  the  philosophers." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  A  beautiful  example  of  typographical  art  and  the  bookmaker's  skill.  .  . 
appreciate  the  story  one  must  read  it." — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"The  date  of  the  events  nanated  in  this  book  is  supposed  to  be  2000  a.  d. 
inhabitants  of  North  America  have  increased   mightily   in   numbers  and  power 
knowledge.     It  is  an  age  of  marvelous  scientific  attainments.     Flying  machines  l|e 
long   been   in  common    use,  and  finally  a  new  power  is  discovered  called  '  aper 
the  reverse  of  gravitation,  by  which  people  are  able  to  fly  off  into  space  in  anydi 
tion,  and  at  what  speed  they  please." — New  York  Sun. 

"  The  scientific  romance  by  John  Jacob  Astor  is  more  than  likely  to  secure  a 
tinct  popular  success,  and  achieve  widespread  vogue  both  as  an  amusing  and  inter :• 
esting  story,  and  a  thoughtful  endeavor  to  prophesy  some  of  the  triumphs  which  seine 
is  destined  to  win  by  the  year  2000.     The  book  has  been  written  with  a  purpose, 
that  a  higher  one  than  the  mere  spinning  of  a  highly  imaginative  yam.    Mr.  Astori|s 
been  engaged  upon  the  book  for  over  two  years,  and  has  brought  to  bear  upon 
great  deal  of  hard  work  in  the  way  of  scientific  research,  of  which  he  has  been  very  ijd 
ever  since  he  entered  Harvard.     It  is  admirably  illustrated  by  Dan  'Be2xd."—Mail 
Express. 

"  Mr.  Astor  has  himself  almost  all  the  qualities  imaginable  for  making  the  sclencjrf 
astronomy  popular.     He  knows  the  learned  maps  of  the  astrologers.     He  knowsljc 
work  of  Copernicus.     He  has  made  calculations  and  observations.     He  is  enthusia 
and  the  spectacular  does  not  frighten  him." — New  York  Times. 

"The  work  will  remind  the  reader  very  much  of  Jules  Verne  in  its  general  plait 
using  scientific  facts  and  speculation  as  a  skeleton  on  which  to  hang  the  romaic 
adventures  of  the  central  figures,  who  have  all  the  daring  ingenuity  and  luck  of 
Verne's  heroes.      Mr.  Astor  uses  histoiy  to  point  out  what  in  his  opinion  science  ii)r 
be  expected  to  accomplish.     It  is  a  romance  with  a  purpose." — Chicago  Jnier-Oc(\ 

"  The  romance  contains  many  new  and  striking  developments  of  the  possibil(|s 
of  science  hereafter  to  be  explored,  but  the  volume  is  intensely  interesting,  both 
product  of  imagination  and  an  illustration  of  the  ingenious  and  original  applicatio  I 
science." — Rochester  Herald. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


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